


Death, Upright

by nauticalparamour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Time Travel, Tomione Fest 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticalparamour/pseuds/nauticalparamour
Summary: When Hermione's eyes settled on Tom once again her smile transformed into something slightly sinister. “I must say, Tom Riddle, I have been waiting for the day that you would walk into my tea room.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Tomione_Fest18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tomione_Fest18) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Tom Riddle has always put far too much stock in divination, and Hermione, well...Hermione will do whatever it takes to change the future.

“Mr. Burke? I’m leaving for the evening,” Tom called out over his shoulder, not bothering to stay and see if the older man responded to him. The dark-haired young man found working at the shop to be annoying, but necessary, as it gave him access to all sorts of things a typical wizard would not be able to find.

 

Stepping out into Knockturn Alley, he cursed to himself when he realized that the persistent drizzle of earlier in the afternoon had changed into a downpour. Using his wand, he knew that it was nothing that a little charms work couldn’t help with. One impervious charm later, he was able to walk down the street without disturbing his impeccable facade -- robes perfectly tailored and not a coiffed hair out of place. 

 

It was a short walk through the cobbled alleyway to Bottle & Glass, a little pub tucked away from the hustle and bustle. It was one that Tom enjoyed frequenting, knowing that he was unlikely to be disturbed there by anyone whom he didn’t wish to cross paths with, not unlike the Hog’s Head back in Hogsmeade. But, Bottle & Glass had the benefit of being near enough to the Ministry of Magic that his acquaintances would frequently make the short walk over to the pub. Tom could conduct his business there easily and without being noted.

 

It suited him.

 

He selected a seat at the bar, and waved the barman over with a flick of his wrist. In a moment, Tom was passed a glass of firewhiskey. He took a sizable drink, before allowing himself to sigh, showing his frustration for a moment. Letting his head hang down, he wondered to himself -- and not for the first time -- why in Merlin’s name he continued to work at Borgin & Burkes. Thinking things through, he reminded himself of all the benefits of being a handsome, charming man who worked to collect magical artifacts for someone as unscrupulous as Mr. Burke. He was so close to finding what he needed, most specifically a locket that had belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself.

 

The locket was meant to be his, if only his  _ stupid _ mother hadn’t sold it off, and he was going to get it back, no matter what it would take.

 

Someone slipped into the seat beside him and Tom could tell that it was Rosier before he even looked. “Get me and my friend another firewhiskey,” Rosier drawled in that arrogant tone of voice that only the scion of a sacred pureblood family could have.

 

Tom took the offered whiskey gladly, before tilting his glass in Evan’s direction. “Rosier, good to see you,” he lied, for once wishing that he had been left alone.

 

“Don’t sound too thrilled,” Evan teased back, sensing from Tom’s tone of voice that he was less than pleased. “Tough day at work?” he pressed.

 

Pressing his hand to his forehead so that he could massage his temples, Tom nodded. “It can be...grating, sometimes, to deal with people,” he explained. It was an issue that he had in all areas of his life, having to play nice with imbeciles, who had less magical talent than he had in his pinky finger. He reminded himself that one day, they would all recognize him for who he really was.

 

“You know, we still don’t understand why you work at Borgin and Burke’s,” Evan said, letting his voice drop an octave. “I mean, don’t you think your particular.... _ talents  _ would be better put to use at the Ministry.”

 

Tom smiled at his friend. “In due time, but there is something unfinished I must handle first,” he answered, fiddling with the Gaunt Ring he wore. Of course, all of his Knights knew of his ambitions regarding the Wizarding world, but he would not make them privy to his plans to cheat death. No one knew about his two horcruxes, and he intended to keep it that way.

 

“Well, at least it’s the weekend,” Evan said, cheerfully. It was times like these that Tom detested his followers, annoyed with how simplistic their lives were. How Evan could be pleased with something as banal as the weekend made Tom question him. “Say, I’m going on a date tonight with Mercedes. How about I see if she has a friend and we make it a double date? I bet Lucretia would be game.”

 

Tom snorted in surprise. “And does Edmund know that you are taking his sister on a date?” he questioned, imagining the fuss that Edmund Lestrange would kick up at the idea of Evan putting his hands on his sister. The Rosier heir was known to be a bit of a womanizer.

 

“Fuck if I care,” Evan said with bravado. “I can take him. Besides, it was her that asked me on the date, saucy minx.”

 

Tom took a drink and made a noise of agreement. Being really  _ quite _ pretty, Mercedes was used to getting what she wanted. “Well, where are you going?” he questioned, thinking that it might be nice to have one night out on the town, and Lucretia Black was as good of company as anyone.

 

“Don’t laugh, but we are going to see this muggle bird who calls herself a seer,” Evan said, his voicing dropping lower to share a secret. “She’s got a place not far from the entrance to Diagon Alley in London.”

 

Turning, Tom looked at his friend with a mixture of concern and anger. “Really, Evan? Consorting with muggles now?” he asked with a sneer, thinking that there was rather a hundred things he’d rather do than go back into Muggle London, even if it meant he might get a handjob at the end of the night.

 

Evan put his hands up to quell Tom’s sudden anger. “Listen, she’s supposed to be the real deal,” he said, running his hands through his light brown hair. “I wouldn’t have even considered it, but Druella swears by the girl.”

 

_ That _ particular tidbit did get Tom’s attention. By all measures, Druella was the epitome of a well-bred pureblood girl. If Evan’s sister was going to this muggle seer, there must be more to her than what she claimed she was. “Explain,” he demanded, simply, his curiosity piqued.

 

“She bumped into Dru about two years ago and well...she told Druella that she was going to have another girl,” Evan explained, remembering the birth of his niece Andromeda not that long ago.

 

“Fifty-fifty chance,” Tom dismissed, thinking that it didn’t sound that impressive.

 

“Sure, but then the bint started asking Dru about how Bellatrix was. Even  _ you _ have to admit that’s unusual. It’s not as if Bellatrix is a name that you’d pull out of the air,” Evan explained, his drink forgotten on the bar as he described the rest of the story. “Druella kept going back and the seer predicted little Narcissa’s birthday down to the  _ day _ , not to mention telling her that it was another girl. Cygnus was quite put out with that, you know?”

 

Tom steepled his fingers together, thinking over Evan’s words. Guessing the gender of a child was not too unusual, but to predict a birth date was far more unusual. Initially, he would have guessed that this so-called seer was little more than an untrained legilimens, but hearing the story, that did not seem to be the case. Was it possible that this muggle woman might have the true talent? It was possible that she was simply a muggleborn who had fallen through the cracks.

 

“You think she’s the real deal?” he asked, feeling skeptical. The probability of it, that there was some unknown muggleborn living out there, who had significant enough abilities to call herself a seer, enough to hoodwink a  _ real _ witch were low.

 

Evan laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “As if  _ I  _ bloody well know. Perhaps she’s just good at reading people,” he answered. “But, I do know that witches  _ love _ the idea of hearing what the future has in store for them -- love, marriage, babies. Even if it doesn’t come true, they’re more than up for a kiss and cuddle, hearing that everything is going to be squared away in the future.”

 

Tom rolled his eyes before taking another drink of his firewhiskey. Here he’d thought that Evan might have stumbled on something a bit more promising. Leave it to him to be more concerned with just chasing some tail. “I’ll pass,” he said, firmly.

 

“Oh come on, Tom,” Evan complained, looking at his friend with a concerned face. “You’re too serious. When was the last time that you had a little bit of fun? Just because we’ve graduated Hogwarts doesn’t mean we have to be  _ boring _ .”

 

“I’m sure you’ll have enough fun for the both of us,” Tom answered snidely, sometimes hating the playboy lifestyle that some of his yearmates had, owing to their fathers’ positions in life. He had  _ ambition _ and  _ plans _ and he didn’t have the time or the money to slack off and take witches out for a night on the town. “I’m quite busy with my work--”

 

“It’s one night, Tom,” Evan scolded, completely ignoring his friend’s dour mood. “Don’t make me take two witches out tonight all by myself. We can always laugh about how ridiculous the seer is when we’re gone.”

 

Gritting his teeth together, Tom could tell that Evan wasn’t just going to let this one go. Sighing, he finished his drink, before pulling out the necessary sickles to leave for the bartender. He was going to have to get ready if he was actually going to go along with this idea. “Fine,  _ one _ night,” he agreed, before standing up to leave.

 

Evan clapped him on the shoulder, a pleased look on his face. “Excellent -- we’ll meet you at the entrance to Diagon Alley at nine o’clock,” he instructed. “I’ll bring some of that champagne from my great-Aunt’s vineyard.”

 

* * *

 

Tom could hear the giggling from around the corner, and he sneered to himself, wondering just what had possessed him to agree to go with. Evan had an arm around Mercedes and the other woman.  _ Lucretia must have been busy _ , he thought to himself, amused. 

 

Eugenie Bole was a major step down, but he figured he couldn’t back out now. Briefly, he wondered if Evan had told her who her date was going to be, remembering how cruel the Ravenclaw girl had been to him when she’d found out he lived at an orphanage.

 

When her pale blue eyes caught his, though, she gave him a breathless little smile. “Tom,” she greeted, before weaseling her way out from under Evan’s arm. She tucked her hand into his arm. “It’s so good to see you again.”

 

_ Apparently it doesn’t matter now _ , Tom thought bitterly to himself.

 

The trio was obviously already tipsy, and Tom wondered just how much of the champagne had already been imbibed. Ignoring Eugenie’s pretty words, he looked expectantly at his friend. “Shall we? I don’t want to stand here all night,” he asked, not bothering to disguise his displeasure at the situation.

 

Evan nodded with a grin, before guiding them into muggle London. It was a short walk -- just a few blocks away -- but the two witches were tittering away as if they might be attacked by a muggle at any moment, drawing more attention to themselves than they warranted. But then again, Tom knew that that was precisely the  _ point _ to witches like Mercedes and Eugenie.

 

When they arrived at the storefront, Tom nearly walked right past it. There was nothing more to mark the hidden entrance except for a small green sign advertising ‘Hermione’s Tea Room’, in faded gold lettering. Looking around, it seemed that the tea room was located on the second floor of the building, judging by the soft glow coming from the windows that he could see.

 

“Oh, Evan, I’m so  _ nervous _ ,” Mercedes giggled, resting her head on his shoulder, her fingers holding onto his bicep tight in a claw like grasp.

 

Evan smiled at her magnanimously. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he cooed, obviously loving being so needed by the admittedly pretty girl. “She’s just a  _ muggle _ . It’s not as if she can do anything to us. We have real magic.”

 

Eugenie looked up at Tom, batting her pretty blue eyes at him, apparently wanting some sort of consolation from him. She would find no comfort in his arms, he thought with contempt. “Shall we go inside?” he asked, finally, feeling odd standing out on the pavement for longer than necessary. The leaves shook like rattling bones on the trees in an eerie wind that was making his hair stand on end. 

 

Nodding, Evan lead the way up the creaking staircase until they reached the second floor apartment. The door jingled when they opened the door, leading into a small sitting area. The walls were draped with patterned fabrics in all assortments of colors. A small fire was giving a bit of warmth to the flat. The room was dominated by large table, covered in candles of varying lengths. A crystal ball sat in the middle.

 

Tom barely stopped himself from snorting in derision at the sight.

 

A voice called from down the hallway. “Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll be out in a minute,” the woman, Hermione presumably, said breezily.

 

Evan was only too happy to make himself at home, conjuring a few coupe glasses before opening one of the bottles of champagne. The loud pop had the two witches laughing in delight, holding out their glasses eagerly, waiting for them to be filled. Tom took a glass himself, wondering if he’d need a bit of alcohol to get through the night. This was likely to be an utterly depressing night, when the muggle turned out to be a fraud.

 

Or, some contrary voice in his head argued, he might have stumbled onto a seer of real value.

 

The woman who came into the room did not match the surroundings of the tea room. Tom had expected a long flowing dress with jingling bells and a headscarf, perhaps either having some Romani blood or pretending to. Instead, he found the slight woman wearing a belted dress to be the exact opposite of what he was expecting. She was wholly unremarkable, save her wildly bushy brown hair, which looked as if she’d stuck her head out the window all afternoon.

 

When her brown eyes settled on him, she stilled for a nearly imperceptible moment, and Tom could feel his magic buzzing underneath his skin.

 

She drew her mouth into a tight smile. Hermione wore a dark plum shade of lipstick which was completely unforgiving with her pale complexion. “I’ve been waiting for you to arrive,” she said simply, before settling herself into the chair opposite.

 

Evan always the gentleman apologized. “Would you like some champagne? If you have an extra glass, we’d be happy to share with you,” he offered, already working on the cork of the second bottle.

 

Hermione shook her head, before reaching underneath the tablecloth and pulling up a bottle of red wine. “I have my own, thank you,” she answered, before pouring herself a healthy glass. Her lips pulled back over her perfectly white teeth. “Now, I understand that you would like your fortunes told.”

 

The two women agreed eagerly. “You simply must tell me who I am going to marry,” Mercedes said, her fingers tightening around Evan once again.

 

“And tell me how many children that I will have,” Eugenie added.

 

“My sister has spoken your praises, Miss Granger,” Evan said smoothly, hoping to disarm the muggle with his smile. “I must admit that we are all eager to hear what you think is in store for us.”

 

Hermione smiled, her eyes flickering back and forth between the four occupants of her tea room. “Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. I can tell you your future, even though you might not want to hear what is in store for you,” she said, with a self-righteous glint in her eye. When she settled on Tom once again her smile transformed into something slightly sinister. “I must say, Tom Riddle, I have been waiting for the day that  _ you _ would walk into my tea room.”

 

Tom could feel his eyes widen when she said his name, wondering if Evan had mentioned he would be coming along when he made the appointment. He looked over to his friend, only to see a similar look of bewilderment on Evan’s face. “If you’re a seer, didn’t you know that I would be coming today?” he questioned, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Oh, I  _ saw _ you coming to me, that is certain, but the date was not known to me,” Hermione answered, cryptically. Pressing her hands together, her heavy gaze returned to the two women. “Now, who would like to go first?”

 

Mercedes volunteered, being far more brave than the tittering Eugenie. Hermione reached for the woman’s hand, before holding it in hers, delicate fingers tracing along the lines that she found there. “You want to know when you will get married?” the seer questioned softly. “Then know that it is just around the corner. Have your fun now while you still can. You will be married before the next year ends.”

 

Tom wasn’t even sure if she realized it, but Mercedes had inched to the edge of her seat, lapping up every word that she wanted to hear. Her eyes flickered over to Evan. “And, do you know who my husband will be?” Mercedes asked, her voice quivering in anticipation.

 

Hermione laughed. “No, it will not be Evan Rosier,” she said, answering a question that Mercedes didn’t even realize that she had asked. “You should trust in your brother’s judgement to select a husband for you. He will not be kind, but he will look after you all the same.” Breezing past the uncomfortable air that had settled around the table, Hermione offered over the deck of cards in her hands. “Tarot?” she asked, cheerfully.

 

Mercedes nodded glumly, suddenly not so enthused by her future. “Of course,” she agreed, before cutting the deck. Tom could barely find it in himself to pay attention to the cards that were turned before the other woman, banal omens about dying dreams, fears of the future, and challenges ahead.

 

When she was done with her reading, Mercedes happily down the rest of the champagne in her cup, before passing it off to Evan for a refill. “Oh, Eugenie, you should go next!” she said, perhaps hoping to pull the other girl into the same kind of terrible future that was foretold for herself.

 

Eugenie bit her lower lip, drawing no comfort from Tom or Mercedes on either side of her. “Oh, I suppose I might as well go next,” she said, a quiver in her voice. She laid her hand on the table, offering it to the unusual muggle. “Tell me, Seer Granger, what the future has in store for me,” she demanded dramatically.

 

Hermione seemed to find being called Seer Granger funny, a quirk to her lips giving her away. She took Eugenie’s hand into hers, quiet as she read the folds in her hand. “Hm,” she said simply, her finger tapping on a particular spot. “You will find true love. I believe that you already know who I am going to say. After all, wasn’t it your intention to make him jealous tonight?”

 

Eugenie snatched her hand back as though she had been burned. “Oliver?” she asked, holding her hand to her heart, lower lip quivering.

 

The seer nodded. “But, I must tell you that your marriage will not happen for many years,” Hermione continued. “There is...too much politics between your families, leaving you unhappy for nearly a decade.”

 

Tom watched as the seer shuffled the tarot cards, before shoving them into Eugenie’s shaking hands to cut. His heart had missed a beat when she said politics. He wondered if she’d simply stumbled onto that word -- there was no way that she could know that Eugenie’s family would never allow her to marry a half-blood. Right? And how had she known that Eugenie was attempting to make Oliver Hillard jealous? Perhaps she was just using simple legilimency and the girls hadn’t noticed it -- not everyone had the gift, after all. 

 

This time, his curiosity was piqued as Hermione flipped the tarot cards, wishing that he’d paid more attention to the cartomancy lecture when he’d taken Divination. The cards reflected delays and frustrations, financial failure and finally seclusion, introspection. Eugenie’s face grew pale as she realized what was in store for her. 

 

Evan and Mercedes quickly laughed it off, pouring more of the bubbly for the girl, intent on getting her mind off of things. The Rosier heir volunteered to go next, pressing his hand into Hermione’s outstretched palm, showing off his Quidditch-calloused hands. Her fingertips traced the ridges and valleys of his love line and his life line with a far off look.

 

“You will also be tying the knot in the next two years,” Hermione started.

 

His friend was quick to laugh. “Well, I suppose that it is time for me to settle down, now that Druella is married,” he said.

 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You will not be getting married for love, but....because it is the right thing to do,” she continued, her voice like a knife’s edge, sharp and cutting. “That’s right. Be considerate of who you make your conquest, Evan Rosier, because she might just be the mother of your child.”

 

Tom watched as Evan’s adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, thinking over his next words. Not wanting to seem affected, he forced a laugh once again. “Well, at least I know that my family line will continue. Tell me, Miss Granger, am I to have a son or a daughter?” he asked, affecting a teasing tone, but not succeeding.

 

“A son that will bare your name, like you bare your father’s before you,” Hermione said in a sing-song manner that belied the deadly truth she was about to share with him. Her fingers shuffled the tarot a third time before passing the deck across the table. “And he will give his life for a cause that he believes in, without an heir to follow him.”

 

Evan stared at the deck for a moment before finally cutting it. Hermione flipped the cards, making a little noise in her throat when she saw what it was. The Devil stared up at him between two other cards. Unfulfilled wishes, powerless over his vices, vulnerability and lack of self-confidence. Tom watched as the pureblood heir wilted at the cards that had been laid in front of him, and was struck by how on the mark Hermione was.

 

The two witches, sensing how the mood had dropped, made an effort to cheer up the man seated between them. Eugenie cooed while she poured out fresh glasses of champagne, before passing the half-empty bottle to Evan to hold. Mercedes whispered into his ear giggling softly, her hand resting on his inner thigh and inching up higher. Tom was disappointed to see Evan slip into their coddling lies, all memory of the hard truth the seer had given him slipping out of his mind as easily as the champagne slipped down his throat.

 

However, he supposed he could be grateful that their attention was focused on each other and not on him. He had doubted this  _ seer _ , but now her words were hitting far too close to home to be mere coincidence. He was teetering on the edge and didn’t care for the way her brown eyes settled on his face, watching him, silent.

 

“And now we come to you, Tom Riddle,” Hermione said, cocking her head to one side. “Give me your hand and we shall see what your life has in store for you.”

 

Hesitantly, as though he were baring his soul to her, Tom gave her his hand as requested. Her hand was warm, warmer than he expected, and soft. He let his occlumency training fall into place, protecting his thoughts from any spells or intrusions, not wanting her to go prodding around. But to his surprise, he felt nothing, not even the barest brushes of her trying to read his mind.

 

She stared at him across the table, completely ignoring the way that Mercedes and Evan were pawing at one another. “You don’t want love or marriage, do you Tom Riddle?” she asked, her tone joking as though they were in on some sort of secret together, just the two of them. “You have bigger ambitions in mind.”

 

Hating the way that she spoke as if she  _ knew _ him, Tom pressed back against her. “You tell me,” he ordered, one dark eyebrow raised.

 

“I have  _ seen _ what you desire more than anything in the world,” Hermione answered, her eyes glittering in the low light of the candles. The flickering flame made shadows dance across her face, leaving her looking gaunt and drawn, like a skull.

 

Tom scowled at her. “Power,” he answered simply, feeling a tingle rush up his spine as her fingers traced along his life line. “I don’t think you’d need to be a seer to realize that.”

 

She shook her head, her lips pursed in amusement. “You do want power, but that is not what you want most in this world,” she argued, catching Tom off-guard. “Everlasting life is what you desire. You wish to live  _ forever _ .”

 

Her words felt like a physical blow across his face. He was stunned that she should know the one thing that he had kept from everyone else in the world, this small slip of a muggle. The brooding man wasn’t sure what to say. He certainly didn’t want to confirm it to her, so that she knew that she was right. She was already far too smug for his liking.

 

“You have taken steps to achieve your aims,” Hermione continued, with a frown. “But it is not as straightforward as you think. Instead, you’ve taken steps to your own doom.”

 

He bristled at her words, thinking about the horcruxes that he’d made so far to ensure that he could not be killed, before schooling his face. “That’s preposterous,” he scowled, realizing that a muggle could not  _ possibly _ begin to understand the complex magic that was a horcrux. “No one can live forever,” he argued.

 

Hermione did not seem convinced by his lie. “Shall we see what the cards have to say about your future?” she asked, as she separated and shuffled the cards again and again, playing with them like it was some sort of nervous tick.

 

Tom reached across the table to take the deck of cards from her, before cutting the deck and returning them. Their fingers brushed against each other when they exchanged them, making the back of his neck prickle in anticipation.

 

Letting out a breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding, Tom watched gingerly as she flipped the first card, only to suck in a great lungful of air when the middle card revealed Death. His eyes focused on that card alone, not even bothering to recognize the other two cards beside it.

 

Hermione laughed when she saw that his gaze was pinned to the ominous card. “Don’t worry Tom,” she teased, her nose crinkling in delight. “Death is not an omen that your life is going to end. Rather, it is showing that this is a time of transformation for you. A chapter of your life is closing, and a new one is being written.”

 

He could barely hear her description of the two cards that bookended such a terrible card -- the ace of swords and queen of cups -- over the buzzing in his ears. He looked at her plum lips while she vaguely explained that he needed to seek the truth, and that he would have a compassionate figure to guide him. All he could focus on was how off-balance he found himself all of sudden.

 

When he’d met Evan in Knockturn Alley earlier in the day, he’d felt confident and sure of his plans for the future, but now he wasn’t so sure. This muggle seer had pinpointed his darkest desires in an instant, something that no one else had been able to do. She had finished speaking, and Tom was able to nod his head, still swirling with thoughts.

 

The noise of the room filtered back in once he was not so attuned to Hermione, and he realized that Evan and the girls were terribly drunk. If they didn’t leave right then, Tom wasn’t sure he could count on the lascivious man not to take Mercedes Lestrange right there on the seer’s table.

 

Tom barked an order at his former schoolmate, pleased to see him react immediately. With an arm around each witch, Evan was barely able to stop swaying and Tom wondered just how much the trio had drank. After passing over a fistful of muggle pounds to the girl, the magical cohort left the second floor flat.

 

Once they were on the street, the trio began to sober up when the cold air hit their faces. “Oh, that seer was so dreadfully  _ boring _ ,” Mercedes complained loudly. “I doubt that she gets even a tenth of what she told us right.”

 

Evan was nodding in agreement. “Yes, I don’t know what Druella is on about,” he added. “There is no way that she is the real deal.”

 

The three were comforted by their decision to reject everything that the muggle had told them, but Tom did not find it so easy to do. Instead, her words stuck in his mind, festering like a curse. He wasn’t convinced that she was a veritable seer, but she’d said enough to give him pause.

  
It would take further investigation.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The Battle of Hogwarts had not gone to plan.

 

Or really, had they  _ ever _ even had a plan in the first place? Hermione, Harry and Ron had been successful in tracking down all of the horcruxes, destroying them in the process. But, they had not counted on Harry being a vessel for a small part of Voldemort’s soul. And, they had not counted on Harry Potter dying.

 

It had weakened Voldemort considerably, yes, but it had not been enough to finish him off, not when he had an army of determined Death Eaters on his side. All Hermione and Ron had was a crumbling Order and their fellow students who were quick to waiver when it became clear that things weren’t going to fall to their side. Of course, there were some who fought bravely, like Neville and Ginny and Seamus, but it was those same students who were killed first. 

 

After she saw Ron killed, felled by the same man who had killed his uncles Gideon and Fabian, Hermione knew that she couldn’t stay any longer. It was difficult for her to slip away -- after all, she was Harry Potter’s mudblood, and she was positive that she was known to each and every Death Eater -- but she had done it all the same, knowing that her life depended on it.

 

She had made it back to Grimmauld Place, knowing that the other side likely thought it had been abandoned after the Fidelius Charm had been broken. There was no living creature left behind in the old Black townhouse, not even Kreacher, and Hermione had drowned in the loneliness and despair for several days, crying until she could cry no longer, before she pulled herself out of her misery, more determined than ever.

 

It was in those first days that she began forming a plan in her mind. While it would have been easy for her to slip into the muggle world, never to be heard from again, she could not in good conscious leave the Wizarding world behind to someone as odious as Lord Voldemort.

 

At first, she had thought about going into the past to simply kill the man when he was a baby, so that he could never leave his mark on the world. But, she quickly decided that she would not be able to commit such an act, even knowing that man that he would become. Unlike Dumbledore, she did not believe that Tom Riddle was born evil. Next, she wondered if she couldn’t destroy the horcruxes after he made them. She knew what they were and where they would be, so it should be an easy enough task. But then, she decided that the destruction of his soul was what had driven the man to madness in the first place and would leave the wizarding world in no better place than it was in the beginning.

 

Tom Riddle was  _ terribly _ ambitious, she thought one afternoon, while she pondered his life story. Perhaps she should not seek to destroy him, but rather, to  _ control _ him.

 

She remembered that it was the mere whisper of a prophecy that had driven him to his first death, when he had tried to kill Harry the very first time. Lying on a moth-eaten bed, Hermione was amused that someone who was so powerful, so intelligent, could be so driven by something as fickle and false as divination. Could she fool him, perhaps? Lead him to believe that she was a great seer and change his path? Exploit his weaknesses to get him to do exactly what she wanted?

 

Deciding that she would do  _ anything _ to change the future, Hermione set her plan in motion.

 

It hadn’t been difficult to steal the time turner that she had turned into Professor McGonagall. Hogwarts was still utterly destroyed after the battle and it didn’t look like the Death Eaters were in a rush to repair anything, not when they were still intent on gaining total control of the Ministry. But, planning a life for herself in the past was more difficult. She gathered all the money that she could get her hands on and a few useful books from the Black family library to aid in her endeavors.

 

Then, there was nothing stopping her from making the jump back into 1952.

 

She’d found a little flat in Central London, just a few minutes walk from the entrance to Wizarding London through the Leaky Cauldron. It would have been quite expensive to someone who hadn’t come back to the past with more money than she really knew what to do with. However, her wealth was not something she exactly wanted to advertise, especially considering the profession that she had selected for herself. She’d exclusively furnished her flat with items from second hand shops, hoping that any interested patron might just think they were inherited.

 

The first year on her own was the hardest. She didn’t know a single person in the muggle world and she certainly couldn’t just venture into the wizarding world either and ask Minerva McGonagall for a chat and a spot of tea. She mourned the lives of her friends, mourned the death of her own future, but tried to move on. Mostly, she spent her time memorizing the book of extensive genealogical records that she’d pilfered from the Black family. It was full of all sorts of details -- births, marriages, deaths, and even some scrawled in scandals from Walburga herself -- that were yet to come to fruition that she could use to boost her reputation with witches and wizards.

 

But then she’d had to wait...wait for news of a seer with great power to get into Tom Riddle’s ear...wait for him to come to her. Hermione had been certain that once news about her... _ gift _ got around, he would be helpless to do anything but seek her out. After all, this was a man who had tried to kill an infant because of a half-heard prophecy. She knew the allure of knowing the future would be too much for him to deny.

 

So, for three years, Hermione had languished in the past, telling silly fortunes to silly muggles, waiting for a witch or a wizard to cross her path. The muggles were the easiest clients. They didn’t want to be told the future, not really -- they just wanted to be told what they wanted to hear. Her skill at legilimacy grew better every day, but the muggles were too ignorant to even realize that she was reading their minds.

 

And, every day, the Battle for Hogwarts and the death of Harry Potter grew further and further into her memory. It seemed almost crazy now, to remember the life that she had left behind in the future, but she never forgot her reason for coming back. None of that would ever come to fruition, not if she had anything to say about it.

 

Just as she was beginning to think that her little venture was completely meaningless, having never met at witch or wizard since coming back to the past, Hermione met Druella Black nee Rosier rather by accident. She had almost laughed at her good fortune, finding such a well connected pureblood woman out in the muggle world. Druella’s brother was close with Tom Riddle, if Slughorn’s memories were true, and all she would have to do was make a good impression. Surely, word would travel to the man she’d been longing to meet.

 

Druella became one of Hermione’s clients, the first from the wizarding world. To her delight, the woman was amazed with her skill as a seer, even bringing a young Bellatrix Black to have her palm read. A girl of four, she had been interested in hearing about her future marriage. Druella had smiled when she heard the name Rodolphus.

 

Hermione knew that it was only a matter of time now before Tom Riddle was darkening her door, but she had been so pleased when he showed up even sooner than she would have imagined, accompanied by an oversexed Evan Rosier and two giggling witches.

 

She had been unprepared for meeting the future Dark Lord, even though her entire existence over the past three years had been waiting for that moment. Harry had mentioned that he was good looking, charming even, but seeing him in person was overwhelming. Tom Riddle was nearly perfect -- tall and with perfectly styled dark hair. He was pale and unblemished, with a masculine jaw and brow, and eyes so dark that you almost couldn’t tell they were blue.

 

But most of all, her breath was nearly stolen by the strength of his  _ magic _ that she could feel radiating from him. Perhaps it was just because she was not used to being around other magical folk for so long, but it was there and it couldn’t be ignored.

 

Nearly thirty, it was clear that dark magic had left its mark on Tom Riddle. If you didn’t know to look for it, you might miss it, but there was a sharpness in his eye, and he appeared just a bit unpolished at the edges.

 

Hermione wanted to make an impression on the man, intrigue him enough to pay attention to what she said and then say enough to make him come back to her. She doubted that simply a pretty face would grab his notice, especially when he was on a double date with witches as beautiful as Eugenie and Mercedes. He seemed far too driven to achieve his own aims to care about a bit of female attention.

 

Instead she’d opted for simply smiling at him and telling him that she’d been looking forward to the day that they would meet.  _ That _ had immediately left him imbalanced. He tried to keep his face stoic, but she could see it in his eyes. Then, after their brief talk, Hermione had ignored him, giving everyone else their fortune until it was only him left.

 

She got the impression that he wasn’t used to be being ignored.

 

Once Evan Rosier was being  _ consoled _ by the two witches, she had all of Tom Riddle’s attention to herself. She knew that he was intrigued by her, but now she had to set her snare to keep him coming back.  He had offered her his palm, and she had been surprised to feel the warmth of his body seep into her hand. In the future, Lord Voldemort always seemed cold, more of a reptile than a person, but there was no denying that he was still just a man here.

 

She had told him that she knew what he wanted more than anything in the world, catching him off-guard when she told him that he’d taken steps to ensure he had everlasting life. After all, he thought that she was just a silly muggle seer, pretending like any of the others who had shops in London. It was not something that she should have been able to come up with on her own.

 

When she read his tarot cards, she had had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing when she had flipped over Death. She hadn’t even stacked the deck for that to happen, but she couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. If she hadn’t already gotten his attention, that certainly had.

 

The little double date had dissipated shortly after that, leaving her alone once again, with half a bottle of wine left to drink and nothing to do but to wait for Tom Riddle to darken her doorstep once again. She knew he wouldn’t be able to keep away for long.

 

* * *

 

Hermione hummed to herself as she moved around the little flat, tidying up while she waited for her roast to finish in the oven. Since coming back to the past, she had had endless free time that she had channeled into learning how to cook the muggle way. She’d gotten quite good at it.

 

Hearing the little bell to her parlor ring, signifying that someone had come in, Hermione called out to her guest. “I’m sorry, I’m not open for any readings right now,” she called over her shoulder. “You should ring back for an appointment.”

 

“Oh, I think you’ll be wanting to see me,” a haughty, dark voice answered.

 

She didn’t bother trying to hide the smirk that she wore when she turned back around to face none other than Tom Riddle. He’d come back, just like she knew he would. “Tom Riddle,” she said, arching an eyebrow at him. “I’d say it’s a surprise, but that would be a lie.” She put her hands on her hips.

 

His eyes were drawn to her jean clad legs, and he didn’t bother hiding that he was looking. While Hermione knew that women wearing trousers was still somewhat of a new occurrence, she had jumped on the trend, pairing them with blouses. She would generally wear skirts and dresses during readings though. “Like something you see?” she goaded, unable to help herself.

 

He straightened up suddenly realizing that he’d been leering at her. He was just as handsome as he had been the week before, though this time he wore a plain black suit, likely having just come from Borgin and Burke’s, she surmised. “I don’t mean to take up too much of your time, Miss Granger,” he said, smoothly, slipping into his charming facade. “But I just wanted to talk to you about something you said while I was here with my friends.”

 

“Yes, what is it?” she questioned, wondering if he was still skeptical about her  _ gifts _ .

 

“Well, you hit a lot of details about me rather on the head,” he said, stepping a bit closer to her, until there was barely a foot of distance between the two of them, forcing her to crane her neck to maintain eye contact. “And I was just wondering how you did it?”

 

Hermione laughed. “Well, Mr. Riddle, I don’t know how to explain my gift, really,” she said, hating the way that she felt like prey caught in a predator’s gaze in that moment. “I suppose I just...see things that may come to pass.”

 

He reached out slowly, catching her jaw in one hand, holding onto her tightly, forcing her to look him directly in the eye. Immediately, she could begin to feel him probbing her mind. When she came to the past she had known that Voldemort was a master Legilimens, and so she had prepared for this, crafting a whole backstory for herself.

 

She let him see memories of her own parents, though details had been changed. She was no longer Hermione Granger, daughter of dentists. Instead, she had been Hermione Granger, the daughter of a soldier, who had been visited by someone from Hogwarts during the height of World War Two. Hermione Granger, whose mother had chased away the woman who insisted her daughter was a witch, instead keeping her close to home. Hermione Granger, whose father had been killed in France, and whose mother had drank herself to death four years after.

 

Forcing him out of her mind, she didn’t bother to hide her anger from him. “I do  _ not _ appreciate that,” she snarled at him, pulling away from his grasp. “I don’t recall invading  _ your _ mind during your reading. Did I?” she demanded.

 

Tom didn’t seem too apologetic about what he’d done. “No, you didn’t read my mind,” he agreed, tilting his head in concession. “But then, you seem to admit to your ability to do it.”

 

She bit her lower lip. “Yes, I can brush against people’s thoughts,” she answered. “But I never try it with  _ your _ kind.”

 

“So you know about us, then?” he questioned, seeming rather pleased with himself for getting her to admit to it.

 

“Of course I know about  _ your kind _ ,” Hermione answered, crossing her arms over her chest. “You saw the memory as well as I did.”

 

A beat of silence passed between them while he tried to formulate what he wanted to say next. “You share our magic. Aren’t you resentful that its been kept away from you?” he asked, not hiding the anger he obviously felt for her fictionalized version of her muggle parents.

 

“There was a war going on,” Hermione said. “I knew that it was the best choice for me at the time. Mum couldn’t have survived if I had been sent away, too.”

 

“It would have been safer for you,” he countered, knowing that London during war time would not have been the safest option for anyone. “She kept you from your gift.”

 

“I am obviously safe enough,” she snapped back at him, thinking it was absurd that Tom Riddle was somehow worried about her  _ safety _ , when he was utterly determined to kill her in her future. “And my gift hasn’t been kept from me at all. I think that you will see that I am a  _ very _ successful seer. A little brush against someone’s mind and I can tell them their deepest, darkest desires and then they will keep coming back, paying me to tell me what they want to hear.”

 

It felt terrible to admit to using hapless muggles that way, but it wasn’t as if that hadn’t been what she had been doing over the past three years. Still, she needed an income, and it wasn’t as if she was really harming them. It was a necessity to tide her over while she waited for the magical world to come to her.

 

Tom Riddle was smirking at her. “So you admit to reading minds then,” he said triumphantly. “That’s how you got into Rosier’s head, and Mercedes and Eugenie, too.”

 

“No!” Hermione countered with annoyance. “Like I said, I don’t use my gift like that...not against  _ your _ kind. I didn’t do it to you -- you would have noticed. And no matter how full of champagne your... _ companions _ were, surely they would have realized it if I had entered their minds, too. Or else you wouldn’t keep them around you.”

 

“Then how did you know about Rosier’s need to expand his family? Or Eugenie’s secret love?” he asked, his voice still accusing and full of suspicion.

 

Hermione laughed when she realized that he didn’t want to believe that she, a mere muggleborn, was capable of being a seer. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that she had foretold the future on her own merit. It was fair, she supposed. She didn’t really have the gift of sight...more like the gift of hindsight.

 

But, he was still determined to get to the bottom of things with her, which only played in her favor. “Shall we sit down and talk about this like civilized people?” she asked, jutting her jaw out in challenge.

 

He didn’t answer her for several beats, instead staring her down with narrowed eyes  as if he were trying to measure her worth. Eventually he conceded. “Fine,” he agreed.

 

“I’ll just put the kettle on,” she offered, scuttling over to her kitchenette, hoping to get a moment to gather her thoughts. She filled the pot with water, only to set in on the stove top.

 

Almost silently, he had moved to stand behind her, his arms trapping her against the counter top. With a wave of his hand, he had set the water in the kettle to boiling, making it whistle loudly. Hermione gasped, feeling the press of his body against her back, her heart hammering away in her chest. She had never expected him to get so close to her.

 

“You would have learned how to do that, and so much more, had you gone to Hogwarts,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “If your magic hadn’t been kept from you.”

 

It felt strange to feel the hum of magic again after not engaging with it for so long. Hermione hadn’t allowed herself to use her wand since she had come back to the past, not wanting to cause any suspicion. She was able to do a few things wandlessly, but mostly it was easiest to just do things the muggle way. But Tom’s magic was palpable, enveloping her whole.

 

Not wanting him to know how he’d affected her, Hermione busied herself with the tea set, only to set it down on her small kitchen table, motioning to the open seat for him to sit down. “I don’t wish to talk any more of the past,” she insisted, hoping to bring the focus back around on him. “I want to talk about  _ you _ , Tom Riddle.”

 

“Tell me how you knew about my desires,” he said, taking her offered tea cup, looking as though he was growing impatient. “Did Evan tell you to say something?”

 

Hermione laughed at him. “I am a seer, Tom Riddle,” she answered, putting a name to what they had been tiptoeing around the whole time. “I might read the minds of my kind, but I do not need to do that with you. I can see your destiny clear as day. I can see the path that you walk on and where it leads to. You are really quite obvious.”

 

He scoffed at her. “If I am so obvious, then tell me, where does my path lead?” he asked.

 

“You cannot gain immortality, Tom,” she said, sounding sad, knowing that it was his life’s aim. It would be hard to change his mind, but he needed to see how attractive the alternative could be. And she was just the witch to show him the correct way. “You’ve made your horcruxes, but they will only lead to your death. You will grow weak and unstable.”

 

Tom’s eyes turned dangerous the moment that she said the word horcrux, perhaps stunned that she knew what they were. She was certain they were his most closely guarded secret. “You don’t know what you speak of,” he said, warning clear in his voice.

 

“I promise you that I do,” she countered. “If you continue on your current path, you will be killed, and by a mere infant no less. The world will rejoice at your death.”

 

In the blink of an eye, he had shoved the kettle off of her kitchen table. The sound of it smashing into pieces nearly drown out his shout. “You lie!” he snarled, standing up, pacing back and forth in the room. “You are only trying to trick me.”

 

Hermione stood after him, reaching out to grab his hand, to still him. Once he turned to face her again, she lifted a hand to cup his jaw, staring into his impossibly dark eyes. “I am not lying, Tom,” she said earnestly, willing him to believe what she was saying. She stepped closer to him, until there was only a hairsbreadth between their bodies. “But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

 

“When you read my tarot, you said that the cards didn’t foretell my death,” he said grimly. “But now you tell me that is what my future holds. Tell me, witch, which one is it?”

 

She shook her head sadly. “No, the cards did not signal your death,” she agreed. “But rather, they signal the beginning of a new chapter of your life...a change,” she whispered. Pressing herself against him, she could feel the shudder in his body when they made contact. “And, if you recall, your cards showed that a woman would guide you. I can be that guide,” she said. “If you’ll let me, Tom.”

 

Tom brought his hands up to her waist, holding her there against him. His eyes searched her face, looking for a motive, but finding none. His gaze darkened, dropping to her lips. “And why should you want to be my guide?” he questioned.

 

Hermione pursed her lips together. “You are a very  _ powerful _ man, Tom Riddle,” she answered, hoping to stroke his ego a bit more. “Why would I not want to align myself with power?”

 

For a moment, he looked like he might try to kiss her. Needing to put some more distance between them, Hermione placed her hands on top of his. Twining her fingers with his to hold his hand, she lead him back to the table. With him seated, she waved her hand at the broken pieces of the kettle, watching as it repaired itself, before floating back to the table.

 

“I might not have gone to school,” she said quietly. “But I am able to do some things for myself.”

 

The fog of anger that had settled over him was gone now, but it was replaced with his earlier distrust. “Why should I believe you?” he questioned. “You’ve told me nothing that I don’t already know. You’ve done absolutely nothing to prove that you are a real seer.”

 

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She wondered what it was about her that made him second guess seers. What had it been about Trelawney's prophecy about Harry had made him so quick to believe? Did she just need to make up some rhyme for the message to really sink in? “I foretold all of Druella’s children before they were born, didn’t I?” she asked. “Surely Evan told you that. And I’ve told you of several marriages that will come to pass.”

 

“Guessing a child’s gender is a fifty-fifty chance,” he sneered back at her. “And the marriages that you’ve predicted could take years to come to fruition.”

 

Hermione held her tongue, waiting to see what else he would say. This was the hard part of her whole plan, getting Tom Riddle to trust her. She knew that she needed to gain it, but only he would be able to show her the way to do it. And if she failed here, well...she would just have to come up with an alternative way to save the future.

 

“Tell me something that will prove your power to me,” he commanded, sounding like the Heir of Slytherin he saw himself as. “Prove yourself to me, and I will let you guide me to the path I’m meant to follow.”

 

She sucked in a breath at what he was offering. This was the opening she had been waiting for for the last three years. Hermione let her eyes fall shut for a moment, feigning as if she were seeing something that wasn’t there. “You have been working with a woman, an elderly woman,” she said, her eyes snapping open. She forced herself to make eye contact with him, not letting go. “Hepzibah Smith.”

 

Hermione could see the corners of his lips twitch, as though he were trying not to smile. He nodded. “Go on,” he encouraged.

 

“She is about to show you something, something very special to her, but also, something special to you,” she said, watching as his eyes lit up in delight. “A locket that belongs to your ancestor. And a...golden cup that belongs to hers.”

 

It was only too easy to see Tom’s eyes light up with greed and desire at what she was talking about. He leaned in closer to her, almost imperceptibly, but she knew that she had his undivided attention in that moment. Smirking at him, she couldn’t stop from goading him a bit. “You know what I speak of?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

 

“Yes,” he admitted. “They are invaluable. And I will take them from her.”

 

“You wish to split your soul and put it inside these objects as well,” she countered, letting him know that she knew exactly what he’d done. It was a gamble, because he could just decide that she wasn’t worth the trouble and kill her to prevent her from telling anyone. She was playing a dangerous game.

 

Tom didn’t admit to anything, but the unamused look on his handsome face was all that she needed to confirm her suspicions. “She will not give them to you,” Hermione revealed next.

 

He slammed his hand against the table once again. “I will  _ make _ her give them to me, or I will take them from her,” he snarled. “A doddering old woman like Hepzibah doesn’t  _ deserve _ them.”

 

Hermione closed her eyes once again, breathing in deeply as she tried to collect her thoughts. Now, she would have to tell him a little lie, let him think that he wouldn’t get away with it. “Even  _ you  _  -- handsome, flirtatious Tom Riddle -- cannot charm Hepzibah into parting with the cup and the locket,” Hermione said finally, drawing her eyes together. “On your current path, you will murder her to get what you want. But...on your current path, you will be arrested for her murder, hunted down for the rest of your days, with only your greed and your unnatural desire to live forever to blame for it.”

 

His nostrils flared as if he were trying to hold himself back from lashing out at her. Hermione knew that this was the make or break moment, where she would determine if she could change Tom Riddle’s path, to keep him from losing himself to Lord Voldemort. 

 

When she came to the past, she said she would do  _ anything _ to prevent her future from coming to fruition. And that even meant molding Tom Riddle into something more dangerous. At least she would be at his side, guiding him to make the right decisions.

 

She pressed her hands together. “Of course, you will need time to think about what you are going to decide to do, Tom Riddle,” she said, feeling her heart race in her chest, hoping that she hadn’t just made a horrible mistake. “But I will be here waiting for you when you make up your mind.”

 

Tom didn’t say anything as he left her little flat, leaving her alone with her thoughts. By the time that she finally stood from the table, her timer to take the roast out of the oven was going off. All that she could do now was wait to see if Tom Riddle had been caught in her snare.


	3. Chapter 3

Tom gave the elderly woman an indulgent smile before taking a sip of her weak, lukewarm tea. He could feel his grip on the cup tightening to a nearly unbearable level before forcing himself to relax. He wasn’t entirely sure how much longer he could listen to her natter on, all the while letting her look at him as if he were some petit four that she would love to gobble up.

 

He watched with cold eyes as she grabbed one of the oversweet confections and shoved it all into her mouth in one bite.  _ Disgusting _ , he thought to himself, wondering what in the bloody hell he was doing there, listening to her. Then, he remembered the seer’s promise, that she would have Slytherin’s Locket and Hufflepuff’s Cup in her possession.

 

He had doubted the seer at first. Thought that she was just a lucky muggle. But, she had been curious enough that he hadn’t been able to stay away from her for long. He was disappointed by what he had seen in her mind. She was little more than a muggleborn that had slipped through the cracks during the war. She had been kept from her rightful place in the wizarding world by her alcoholic mother and he could only imagine the formidable witch she could have been if she was properly educated. She was extremely capable with wandless magic to begin with.

 

While Hermione Granger was not incredibly beautiful, he could not deny the certain allure that she had. Each eager prophecy that spilled from her mouth had him staring at lush lips, wondering what it might feel like to kiss her. She argued with him readily enough -- would that sort of passion translate into other aspects of their relationship, he wondered?

 

She had seemed hungry to remain by his side, guiding him. But then, who wouldn’t want to be near to him, when they could sense his obvious power and ambition? It only made sense that she would want him, too.

 

And he would let her remain at his side -- muggleborn status be damned -- if only her gift could be proven.

 

Thus, he had to stay seated with Hepzibah Smith, coaxing her into showing him her most prized possessions. “Hepzibah, may I just say that dress looks wonderful with your coloring,” Tom said, cutting her off mid story, with a grin. He might detest the woman, but it was not his first time getting her to part with something she would rather she didn’t. Hepzibah was so starved for attention that she would have talked to almost anyone, but Tom had the added advantage of his good looks. He knew that the thought of having a tall young man come to compliment her would be intoxicating to the older witch. “Are you sure that you weren’t a Slytherin? You look so comfortable in green.”

 

Hepzibah laughed nervously, as though she had never learned how to receive a compliment properly. “Oh Tom, you know that I was a Hufflepuff, and a proud one at that,” she gushed. “Descended from Helga Hufflepuff herself.”

 

Tom wanted to proudly proclaim that he had the blood of Salazar Slytherin in his veins, but he held back. Setting his tea cup down with a bit more force than necessary, he plastered a grin on his face once again. “Well, do you have anything that you would like to show me today?” he questioned, pressing his hands to the table, hoping to hold back his eagerness.

 

“It’s always business with you, Tom,” she said, clicking her tongue against the back of her teeth in disappointment.

 

Ever one to smooth things over, Tom shook his head. “You know, Mr. Burke is always telling me that there is no point in coming to you,” he said, conspiratorially. “That you have nothing left that he would be interested in buying.”

 

Hepzibah looked put out, as though she honestly cared about Mr. Burke’s opinion in the first place. The only reason she did  _ any _ business with Borgin and Burke’s was because of Tom. Otherwise, the old witch wouldn’t step one foot into their shop, not even if she was down to her last knut. “Mr. Burke doesn’t know what  _ riches _ I have,” she said, greedily.

 

“But, can I tell you a secret?” Tom asked, leaning in closer and dropping his voice down to a whisper. When the other woman nodded eagerly, he gave her an indulgent smile. “I only insist on coming here because, well...I like talking to you so much Hepzibah. You feel like an old friend to me, and I love our chats.”

 

The woman was lapping up his words, as if she were starving in the desert and he was a tall drink of water. “Tom, you flatter me,” she said with a grin. “I most certainly count you as a friend. More than a friend really--”

 

“So you see, that’s the reason that I must get down to business with you,” he said, cutting her off. He didn’t think that he could bare it if she tried to suggest that they have some kind of romantic entanglement. He would only dangle that possibility over her, but never actually engage in it. “Because that way I can prove Mr. Burke wrong -- something that I enjoy thoroughly -- and then I am able to continue to come to visit you again.”

 

She gave him a happy nod, before barking at her house elf to go retrieve whatever it was she wished to sell him that day. When the little elf returned, she was carrying an assortment of baubles that had belonged to a long dead aunt. Tom appropriately cooed over what she had to show him, only to be disappointed that it wasn’t what the seer had promised. Perhaps she didn’t know what it was that she was talking about, but then, it would have been difficult for a muggleborn to weave a tale like the one that Hermione had told him.

 

Finally, as he was about to leave, Hepzibah got an excited look on her face. “Can I show you something, Tom?” she asked, looking like she wasn’t one hundred percent sure that she could actually trust him with this. “They are my most prized possessions, but something that I would never  _ dare _ to part with, so don’t even try to convince me. But I know that a fellow lover of history like yourself would enjoy it.”

 

Tom swallowed, barely able to contain his excitement. “By all means, Hepzibah. But I make no promises that I won’t try to convince you otherwise,” he said with a grin.

 

She disappeared for a while, back into her bedroom, but when she came back out she was carrying a velvet lined tray with both Hufflepuff’s Cup and Slytherin’s locket. He felt his mouth go dry when he realized that he was actually in the presence of things that had been owned by the Founders. Further, he realized that Hermione had been telling the truth.

 

“Are these...?” he trailed off, letting his fingers trail over the cold emerald of the locket, wishing more than ever that he could just grab them. He could kill Hepzibah right then and there and it would take months before anyone noticed that she was dead. She was so vulnerable.

 

Hepzibah worked herself into quite a tizzy telling him everything that she knew about the Cup, proudly proclaiming once again that Helga Hufflepuff was her ancestor. Tom didn’t know or care if it was the truth, but he couldn’t stop staring at the locket, his heart full of greed. How he longed for it, how he longed to take it for himself.

 

“And you are sure that there isn’t... _ anything _ I could do to get you to part with even just one of these things?” he asked, his voice catching in his throat. He would let her read into that implication what should would. “They are priceless, as I am sure you know, but Mr. Burke would be willing to pay handsomely.”

 

She looked for a moment like she might ask him for something more, as if she might be deciding to give in to her base desires then and there. Had she ever been with a man, he wondered? But then she shook her head. “No, no,” she said, sounding a bit sad. “I cannot part with them.”

 

A part of Tom was screaming to just kill the bitch and be done with it. He could give the Cup and the Locket a far more illustrious future than simply tarnishing away in Hepzibah’s bedroom. But then, he remembered Hermione’s second warning. She had told him that Hepzibah would have these things, but she had also foretold that he would be arrested for her murder if he took them, and there would be no getting out of it. As much as it pained him to simply walk away, he decided that he would listen to the seer instead.

 

For once in his life, Tom Riddle was being forced to put his trust into someone else, and it was not a feeling that he relished. Still, she hadn’t lead him in the wrong direction yet, and if he believed what she said, she would guide him down a path to true power. 

 

He gave Hepzibah a tight smile. “Well, I suppose if I can’t entice you to part with them,” he said firmly. “Then I simply must cut my visit short today. You’ll understand, Hepzibah. I have another client to meet with.”

 

She looked as if she wanted to call him back, put out by the suggestion that he had other, more important clients than her. It was a blow to her fragile ego, but of course, she knew what it was that he really wanted. If she decided to part with her most prized possessions, she knew where to find him.

 

But he wouldn’t wait around for that to happen. He had a seer to speak with and a future to plan.

 

* * *

 

It was raining by the time Tom had made it into Muggle London, but it was nothing that a simple water repelling charm couldn’t handle, not caring if any muggle thought it was unusual that he wasn’t carrying an umbrella. He kept his head down as he retraced his steps to Hermione’s tea room, eager to talk over the next steps of his life with her. He bound up the steps to Hermione’s flat, walking in unannounced to her empty living room.

 

She poked her head out of the kitchen before seeing that it was him. Then, her face was transformed by a smirk on her darkly painted lips, sending a thrill up his spine. She was  _ happy _ to see him, and he was happy to be wanted. Her lips pulled back in a smile when she crossed into the living room, hands pressed to her hips. “I knew you’d come back to me, Tom Riddle,” she said, sounding haughty and rather pleased with herself.

 

She was wearing those ridiculous muggle trousers again, the ones that showed off the tight curve of her waist and the gentle line of her long legs. Any witch would be scandalized to be seen in something like that, and he sensed that many muggle women probably would be, too. But not Hermione. She seemed not to care what anyone else would think of her. He liked that, almost as much as he liked the way that the shape of her arse was revealed in the tight fitting denim.

 

“You’ve proved yourself admirably, Hermione,” he answered smoothly, wondering if she already knew which choice he’d made. “I’ve just come from Hepzibah’s.”

 

Hermione pursed her lips together. “And you’ve decided to follow a different path,” she said. It was not a question, she was confident of his answer. “You didn’t take her cup or her locket and you didn’t kill her. You’ve made the right choice, Tom.”

 

“So  _ you _ say,” he countered, accusatorily. It was no secret that not taking the artifacts went against everything in his being. A tendril of greed was still spun around his heart, begging him to go back to the old woman and take what should rightfully be his. But, it could not be said that Tom Riddle was not an intelligent man. If he was in the presence of a veritable seer, it would be foolish not to listen to what she had to say. He’d found just what he needed, rather by accident -- a lucky penny in the dirt.

 

“Shall we sit down by the fire?” she asked, waving her hand towards the little couch near the fireplace. “I believe that we have much to discuss.”

 

Tom was only too happy to do so. Removing his suit coat, he hung it on the coat rack near the door before crossing the room to sit down. He began working on rolling up his sleeves. After the long day of charming Hepzibah he’d had, he wanted nothing more than to rid himself of the false facade that he wore for the rest of the world. If there was anyone that he could reveal his true self to, Hermione Granger would probably be it.

 

She returned a moment later with another tea service, setting it down on the table in front of them, before slipping into the seat next to him. Hermione sat so close to him that he could feel the heat of her body seeping into him, sending warmth through his whole body. He hadn’t even realized that he was cold.

 

Hermione lifted the tea cup to her lip, leaving a smudge of dark lipstick on the white edge. “I’m proud of you Tom,” she said warmly, as if they were old friends. He realized that this was the first time that anyone had shared that sort of sentiment with him.  “I take it that this means that you’ve come to accept my guidance?” she asked, finally.

 

He cleared his throat. For so long, Tom Riddle had done only what he wanted, not paying much attention to what other people needed unless it could further his own needs. The thought of needing someone else’s guidance made him feel weak and off-kilter. However, he would just need to remind the seer that he was still his own man and he made his own choices in the end. She couldn’t tell him what to do.

 

Grabbing her wrist tightly in his hand, he delighted in the scared little gasp that left her mouth. “Let’s make one thing clear, Hermione,” he said, fully intimating his threat in his tone of voice. “You may offer me a glimpse into the future, but my choices are my own. You do not hold any sway over me.”

 

Hermione leaned into him, her brown eyes wide and alarming. “I would never  _ dream _ of trying to control you, Tom,” she said, her own voice taking on a seductive quality that caught him off guard. She pressed her free hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat behind muscle and bone. “I merely wish to help you achieve your full potential.”

 

He was utterly drawn in by the whispered promises that she was making, his pulse speeding up. “And just what is my potential, Hermione?” he asked, wanting to hear her say the words herself.

 

“Tell me, have you given up on this folly that is immortality?” she asked, staring at the hand that he still held in his grasp. She looked so little and fragile, as though he could snap her bones without even really trying. But, she didn’t appear bothered by their disparateness. “Will you promise me to make no more horcruxes? I would hate to see your mind torn to pieces for an impossible quest,” she pouted. Her hand left his heart, only to cup the side of his face, fingers playing with the dark hair at his temple.

 

Tom could feel his eyelids slip shut, enjoying the unexpected comfort he drew from this witch. He was not used to receiving affection from anyone, thinking that he’d trained himself out of that silly human desire back when he was at the orphanage. But, this...this was something he could get used to. “I won’t destroy the ones that I’ve already made,” he said. It would be hard to let go of his original ambition to make more horcruxes than the two he already had. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t return to his original plans if things with Hermione didn’t pan out the way that she suggested.

 

“I wouldn’t ask to you to do that,” she told him, her voice calm. In the silence, he could hear the rain pounding down on the window pane. It was soothing. “Not until we have a way to preserve the other pieces of your soul. Not until we can mend it.”

 

His eyes snapped open, narrowing at her suspiciously. “You seem to know a lot of about horcruxes,” he said slow, in warning.

 

His tone did not deter her from her careful examination of his face. Her lips were parted as she searched his eyes, but he didn’t feel her enter his mind. Tom forced himself to relax. “Can’t you feel it?” she asked, cryptically. “Your soul is in torment.”

 

If he was honest, he  _ didn’t  _ feel any torment, but he wasn’t about to admit it to a muggleborn seer. He couldn’t let her think that she had anything hold over him. “I wish to have power. All who will hear my name will tremble,” he said, finally voicing his desires to her.

 

That seemed to pull Hermione out of the reverie that she had been in. She pulled her hand away from his face, returning her hands to her lap. She licked her lower lip with a hint of wet, pink tongue, while she tried to decide what to say next. “It was once your desire to become a professor at your school, was it not?” she asked.

 

Tom was barely able to keep from reacting to her question, wondering just how it was possible for her to know such details about his life. He hadn’t told  _ anyone _ except for his four friends, and they had all been magically bound to secrecy after he had failed to achieve the post. Had she been sent by Dumbledore? Looking at her wide, doe eyes, he knew that it wasn’t possible. “It was.”

 

“Is it not still your ambition to become a professor?” Hermione asked, cocking her head to one side. “Previously, it was decided that you were too young to teach. But now...now you are no longer too young. The job could be yours if you just asked for it.”

 

He couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. “No, it is not my ambition to become a professor any longer,” he sneered at her. “There was something I wanted in the school, but...no matter.”

 

“Then, it is clear to me. If it is power that you really desire, to bring your kind to heel...then you must join the government,” she said simply, as if there was no room for discussion.

 

Tom scoffed. “I’ve had many offers for work from the government, but it moves too slow for my liking. And there is another powerful man...Dumbledore, who is sure to block me and every turn.”

 

Hermione frowned at him. “Are you not the same Tom Riddle who will  _ make _ people give in to your desires? Are you not the same Tom Riddle who will  _ bend _ others to his will?” she asked, sounding annoyed with his pessimism. “You will make your government work at the speed that you wish, or you will tear it down from the inside and rebuild it. You have powerful friends on your side who will aid you.”

 

Her words were more intoxicating than Malfoy’s finest aged firewhiskeys and they tasted even sweeter. She was painting him a picture of a future that he’d secretly longed for, speaking it into existence and believing in him.

 

“I seek to make you not merely the most powerful  _ dark _ wizard in existence, but the most powerful wizard full stop,” she said, her cheeks flushed pink and her brown eyes sparkling with danger. “But you must follow the correct path or your kind will only see you as a dictator, intent on destroying them.”

 

_ Salazar _ , her words held such promise. He couldn’t practically taste the title of most powerful wizard who had ever  _ lived _ in his future, but what she was asking of him seemed like a lot. Still, he considered the pay off and thought it was too great for him to overlook. He just hoped that the picture Hermione was weaving would come to fruition.

 

He remembered the tarot reading that she’d given him -- a profound change that would be guided by a female. Tom wasn’t going to be able to do this without Hermione’s skills as a seer guiding him correctly to the future that he  _ chose _ for himself. “If I do this, then you must come with me,” he said, firmly.

 

Hermione gave him an indulgent smile. “Of course, my tea room will always be open to you, Tom Riddle,” she said smoothly. “You should stop in whenever you are seeking clarity.”

 

Now it was his turn to smirk at her. He shook his head slowly. “No, Hermione,” he said slowly. “You will come to live with me in the wizarding world. I need you at my side so that I can consult with you when needed.” This time, it was his hand that came up to tangle in the wild hair that hung around her shoulders, feeling the silky strands slip through his fingers. “Besides, you do have an undeveloped gift, but you show great promise with your magic. I will teach you to harness it.”

 

Her brown eyes were focused on his face, looking a bit startled and unsure. Was it possible that she had not foreseen him asking her this? The thought amused him. She bit at her lower lip, considering her response for several beats of silence. “I cannot simply close up shop and disappear. People would grow concerned,” she countered, a weak argument at best.

 

“You are a witch, Hermione,” he told her, feeling annoyed that she continued to shun the gift she was born with because of her concern for what other muggles would think. Didn’t she know that there were squibs who would kill to possess even a tenth of the magic that she clearly did? “You don’t belong here. Even you can’t deny it.”

 

She looked away, staring at the remaining embers of the dying fire. “I won’t submit myself to your whims,” she said finally, her face unreadable. “If there comes a day that you no longer seek my guidance, I will not leave myself with no home...no income in my world to come back to.”

 

Tom snorted. “If you insist, you can continue to take appointments here,” he said, wondering what it was about Hermione that made him give in to what she wanted so easily. He could simply take her back to the wizarding world and no one would be the wiser. But then, she might not chose to share her gift with him any longer. “But all the rest of your time will be spent with me.”

 

He let his fingers delve deeper into her hair, tightening his hold. He tilted her head so that she was looking at him once again, and he found her rather liked seeing her like this, helpless and malleable. “Agreed?” he demanded, needing to know that she would come with him.

 

“Agreed,” she said, her voice barely higher than a whisper.

 

“I think we should seal this arrangement with a kiss,” he said, his eyes sparkling with undisguised lust. It had been a long time since a woman had inspired this level of desire in him, but there was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on about Hermione. Perhaps it was all the untapped potential that she represented -- a future that was his for the taking, with her by his side.

 

Slanting his lips across her’s, he delighted in the gasp that left her lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He was slow and methodical, taking his time to coax her into responding to him, learning what she liked. She was lush and responsive, tiny moans escaping every now and again when he slid his tongue against hers.

 

It was enough to have him responding, too. He would be a fool if he said that he didn’t have a surface level attraction to the seer, but now that he had tasted her, he felt a bit like the first time he’d conjured  _ fiendfyre _ , like he was constantly on the edge of things getting dangerously out of control. But, he knew that he’d master her as well, molding Hermione into something more powerful, more useful to him.

 

She didn’t fight against his hold on her hair, keeping her in place exactly how he wanted, and she was easy enough to press back into the couch, until his upper half was pressed against her intimately. He pulled his mouth away from her lips, only to kiss a path down her jaw and to her neck where he sucked and kissed at the skin there, hoping to leave a red bruise to claim her as his own.  _ His _ seer.

 

He could feel her arms come up to wrap around him, her fingers carding through his hair. The sensation of her fingernails scratching at his scalp, mussing his normally perfect hair, had his toes curling in delight. He could feel her hot breath against the side of his face, gasping as she tried to catch her breath while he left her wanting more.

 

Suddenly, it was all too much. The situation had nearly spiraled out his control, and he knew he had almost gone too far. If he pushed Hermione too much too soon, it was certain to drive a wedge of mistrust between the two of them before anything could get started.

 

He pulled away from her, releasing her from his grasp. She was delightfully ruffled, with a love bite peeking out of her blouse, just like he’d wanted. The sight of her leaning back against her couch, lips parted and breasts rising and falling under her shirt, while she came back to herself would be burned into his brain for the rest of his life. He wanted her.

 

Tom stood up from the couch, knowing that he would need to put some distance between himself and this witch. When he spoke, his voice was graveley and thick with unspent desire. “I’ll be back tomorrow to take you to my home,” he instructed her, before working on unrolling his sleeves. He slipped his arms back into his suit coat. He caught a glimpse of himself in a little mirror near the door, and was amused to see that Hermione had left her own mark on him; the dark lipstick she favored had left a smudge on his cheek and his hair was in a state. With a simple wave of his hand, he ensured that he looked as unrumpled and immaculate as he had been before he came to visit. “You’ll pack up everything that you want to take with you before then. Understood?”

 

Hermione looked up at him with unveiled annoyance. Clearly, she had grown used to her independence and didn’t care for being ordered around. Tom hoped that she would come to realize that it could only benefit her in the end to embrace her magical gifts. “That’s...” she trailed off, looking down to her lap. “That will be acceptable.”

 

He could feel the corners of his lips curling up in a half smile at how fierce this little kitten was. “Excellent,” he said, always needing to get in the last word. He didn’t wish her good day, instead turning and heading down the stairs.

 

Stepping out into the evening rain, he put his water repelling charm back on. Breathing in the cold air deeply, he let his mind clear from the haze of lust that Hermione had left him in. A part of him wondered how he had been quite so lucky to stumble upon a seer as talented as Hermione. He couldn’t believe how surly he’d been when Rosier had suggesting going to see her.

 

Hermione had stumbled right into his web and he wasn’t keen on letting her go any time soon, not when she was so incredibly useful to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione was a bundle of nerves while she waited for Tom to come to collect her. He’d instructed her to pack everything she wished to bring with her, but seeing as she was meant to be a muggle she limited herself to a single trunk, strategically packed but still full to bursting. She was dismayed that she was having to leave a lot of things behind, but she knew that any attempts at shrinking her belongings would tip her hand to just how much magic she really knew.

 

She couldn’t believe that she was actually consenting to moving in with Tom Riddle, possible future Dark Lord. It was difficult to remove the memory of the man he was in her time from her mind, but she tried to force herself to do just that. While he had already done terrible things, his path was no longer set in stone, and so she couldn’t hold him responsible for events that might never come to pass.

 

What was even more odd to her was that Tom Riddle would want  _ her _ to live with him in the first place.

 

Everything she knew about him was that he was intensely private and didn’t do well with sharing, but he’d offered...ordered her to come with him nonetheless. She had several theories as to why he would do that.

 

The first was that he didn’t trust her and that he wanted to keep her as close as possible. She was always sure to keep her guard up around him, and hadn’t deviated from her fabricated backstory once. After their first private conversation, he hadn’t tried to penetrate her mind again, not even reaching out to brush against it once. Still, he seemed wary around her.

 

The next possibility was that he did trust her and wanted to keep her as close as possible. She knew that by telling him about Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s Cup would have been a great way to get him to believe in her  _ gift _ . The whole point had been to make her advice seem invaluable, but perhaps she’d overshot that aim. Perhaps now he saw her as something he couldn’t live without.

 

Finally, there was the possibility that he was attracted to her physically. Of course, he’d given her evidence enough of that when he’d kissed her on the couch. She flushed at the memory of the way his lips fit against hers, the soft nip of his teeth as he pushed her between hot waves of pleasure and the sting of pain. Hermione knew that this  _ must _ be at least a little bit true, and even worse, she was horrified that she had reacted the way that she had to  _ him _ .

 

But then again, she said she’d do  _ anything _ to change the future. Even if that meant using her body. And, she’d insist the whole time that she didn’t like it as much as she did.

 

So she waited, trunk neatly packed, for Tom to come walking back into her flat to collect her. When he did finally show up, he did so by apparating directly into the living room, not bothering with the door. Hermione was so surprised, she didn’t even have to pretend to be shocked by the sight of him materializing out of nothing. “God! You frightened me, Tom!” she shouted, pressing a hand to her heart.

 

“It’s nothing to be worried about,” he said, putting that charming smile of his on his face once again. “ _ Apparition _ is a perfectly safe way to travel.”

 

Hermione cringed, realizing that she was going to have to put up with him talking down to her like she was some kind of muggle pet, completely ignorant of magic. She was meant to know not a single spell by it’s name, and it would be difficult for her to hold her tongue and not argue back with him about magical theory. “If you say so,” she said with a frown.

 

“Is this everything you need?” he asked, motioning to her trunk. With unnecessary flourish, he shrank her trunk before putting it into his pocket for safe keeping.

 

She tried to give him the wide-eyed stare of someone who’d never seen such a delight before. “It’s all I need for now,” she said firmly. Hermione was still adamant that she wouldn’t give her tea room up. “I am free to come back here whenever I like. You will have to show me how to get back here.” While she doubted the entrance from the Leaky Cauldron had changed in the last half-century, she still couldn’t come and go as she pleased until she was given the direction.

 

“That will have to wait until we get you a wand,” he said indulgently.

 

The brunette resisted the urge to sneer at him for the way he was treating her, as if she were some kind of sad little child. Besides, if there was one thing she was excited about, it was the prospect of using a wand again. She’d hidden hers away years ago so that she could break the habit of using it, and she longed to hold one again. She would put up with any amount of patronizing from Tom Riddle if it meant she could use one again, unimpeded. “Does your kind really have wands?” she asked, scoffing at him. “What’s next, do you really use broomsticks to fly around?”

 

Tom laughed at her. “Oh, you are a  _ delight _ , Hermione Granger,” he said, before tucking her arm into his, and apparated them away without a hint of a warning.

 

Hermione did not need to pretend to feel unsettled by the sudden movement, as she had never gotten used to side-along apparition. She was much more comfortable doing it on her own. Tom did not offer any comfort for his nauseated companion.  _ Typical _ , she thought to herself.  _ He worries about his own comfort only. _

 

She was, however, distracted by the sudden reminder that she was in  _ Tom Riddle’s  _ home. It appeared to be a flat like her own. There were no familiar muggle appliances in what passed as the kitchen, save for an old-fashioned looking icebox. His living room was surprisingly messy, every available surface covered with loose papers and open books. She was drawn in by the built-in bookcases that flanked either side of the fireplace, absolutely stuffed to the brim by books. She could feel her fingers itching to get her hands on them.

 

He might be a dark wizard, but at least he had an appreciation for the written word that rivaled her own.

 

Tom pressed his hand on her lower back, guiding her behind a little makeshift screen that served to separate the studio into two halves. Behind it was clearly his living space. There were not many personal effects, and it was surprisingly the most tidy area of the flat. He must not spend much time there at all. On one wall was a bar that served to hold his hanging clothes and a trunk underneath it.

 

With a wave of his wand, the bar was duplicating itself, and he was putting her own trunk underneath. “You can store any of your clothing here,” he said simply. He did not offer for her to make the place her own.

 

She was looking around the room, just about to ask where she would be sleeping when everything clicked into place. He expected her to sleep in the same bed as him. Hermione could hear the blood rushing in her ears, wondering what she should do, or if she should refuse. It was uncomfortable, not knowing what he wanted with her.

 

Tom must have sensed where she was staring, because when she looked up at him again, he was smirking at her. “Will this be a problem,  _ seer _ ?” he asked, spitting out her title as though he were mocking her for not seeing this happening.

 

Swallowing thickly, Hermione knew that she would have to play along with his game if she was to remain successful with influencing him. She would make him utterly dependent on her, so that he would never make another decision without her. Giving him a lascivious smile and closing the distance that separated him, she enjoyed the momentary look of surprise on his face. “Of course not, Tom Riddle,” she answered.

 

* * *

 

For the first two days that Hermione had lived in the wizarding world, Tom had left her to her own devices. The warm hold of her embrace did not deter him from rising early, like he normally did, slipping into his dark colored suit and heading off to Borgin and Burke’s.

 

When he returned the first evening, Hermione had berated him for leaving her alone with no food and no way to get any. She had occupied her time by unpacking her trunk, bothered by the juxtaposition of her muggle clothing next to his. 

 

The second morning, he’d pulled her up from bed when he was about to leave, pointing her in the direction of food she could eat. Then, he sat her down at the kitchen table with a stack of first year magic books and instructed her to start reading. Hermione had thanked him for giving her something to do.

 

Then, the moment he’d left the flat, she’d spent the day exploring his shelves to see what sorts of material he was currently studying. His notes were prolific, scattered around the room on torn pieces of parchment. They would have been meaningless to a muggleborn who’d never spent a day learning magic, but Hermione was really no such muggleborn. It gave her valuable insight into what he was studying.

 

Tom Riddle had not stopped learning when he left school. 

 

And, she was surprised that his interests were not simply confined to dark magic. He had a keen mind, and she grew even more positive that she could help guide him to a more appropriate path. Tom Riddle might never be  _ good _ , but he could do good things. 

 

But, she needed to get him away from Borgin and Burke’s if she had any hope of achieving that. Not only did it expose him to all sorts of dark artifacts, but it was  _ beneath  _ him. She resolved to do something about it that very night.

 

She was reading  _ Standard Book of Spells _ ,  _ Year One _ when he arrived home. The sun had already gone down outside, so she had taken it upon herself to light a small fire and pull the curtains looking to the non-descript alley his flat was above. “You’ve made quite a dent in that,” he said, sounding uneasy.

 

“You’ve been gone quite a long time,” she countered, shrugging her shoulders. “When are you going to quit your job?” she asked, as soon as he’d removed his cloak from his shoulders. “Is it not still your intention to grab hold of your destiny?”

 

Tom didn’t bother to roll his eyes at her. “I will quit,” he said firmly. “When it pleases me.”

 

_ That _ was not good enough for Hermione Granger. “Being a shopkeeper is beneath you, Tom Riddle. You are destined for  _ great _ things,” she said, her voice dropping down, hoping that her words were seductive to the man. She stood from the couch so that she could wrap her arms around his middle, her cheek pressed against his back.  _ Terrible things _ , she thought to herself. “You claim to be ambitious, but you never seize control of your own life.”

 

She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his muscles tense at her mocking tone. “I am perfectly in control,” he countered. “And I will quit when  _ I _ want to, not when some seer tells me to.”

 

But, Tom  _ was _ susceptible to prophecies, Hermione knew. “If you do not quit, you will be nothing more than what you are today. Your talents, your potential will wither away into nothing,” she said, hoping that her words were poison. She freed him, stepping around to stand in front of him, so that she could look into his dark blue eyes. “There are many people who will want to support you, but how can they know you are  _ serious _ about it when you have a job that is beneath you?”

 

It seemed that even though he was now a man grown, Tom was still drawn in by pretty words about how wonderful, great, how  _ powerful _ he really was being recognized. All he ever really wanted was for someone to confirm what he already knew -- that he was better than everyone else.

 

“I have something for you,” he said quietly, looking rather pleased with himself, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a box. He handed it over to her reverently. “Go on, open it up.”

 

There was no mistaking what was inside. It could be nothing other than a wand. Still, Hermione opened the lid with delight. She felt her breath leave her in a huff when she saw a vinewood wand nestled in dark velvet. Although it was not  _ her _ wand, there was no mistaking the similarities. To think that Tom had been able to pick this for her when they barely knew one another...

 

“It’s got a dragon heartstring for a core,” he said, wrapping his hand around hers to show her how to properly hold it. “The means that it is readily able to produce all sorts of magic.”

 

Hermione felt a pit of discontent settle in her belly when she thought about what he meant. Dragon heartstring accepted dark magic readily, should the caster be willing to embrace it. Of course, with Tom teaching her, it should come as no surprise that he would select one with dark spells in mind. Still, it was unsettling to know that her original wand was just the same.

 

“Dragon heartstring?” she heard herself asking, even though she felt a bit numb to be holding it again. “Are you suggesting that dragons are real as well?”

 

Tom laughed. “You have a lot to learn,” he said with a smirk. “And once you see what you could have had all along, you’ll be cursing your muggle mother for not giving you the opportunity to embrace your gift all along.” 

 

Hermione did not know what to say to that. She was sure that what he was saying was the truth, but then again, she had not been kept away from Hogwarts at all.

 

“Go on then,” he encouraged. “Give it a try.”

 

She wondered if she should turn the wand on him right then and there. She could easily cast the Avada Kedavra, especially considering that he be caught completely by surprise. She had never attempted the Killing Curse, but Hermione Granger has always been perfect on her first try with a spell.

 

Instead, she tried a spell that was in the  _ Standard Book of Spells _ . “ _ Wingardium Leviosa!”  _ she enunciated clearly, watching dispassionately as the book she’d been reading was levitated up off of the couch.

 

When she looked to Tom, he was staring at her with greed sparkling in his dark eyes.

 

* * *

 

Although he had showed her how to get out of Diagon Alley and back into Muggle London, Hermione still hadn’t gone very far in the wizarding world yet. After all, she didn’t have any galleons to her name yet, so there was no point in her wandering about. 

 

So, it had fallen to Tom to select her attire for his planned dinner with some of his closest allies. Hermione was secretly thankful that he took it upon himself, never having taken much interest in fashion to begin with, but she knew that she would find herself utterly confused with wizarding clothing in the 1950s.

 

Staring at herself in the little mirror he had hanging in his bedroom, Hermione considered the slinky black dress that he’d chosen and hoped that she wouldn’t seem too out of place. With it’s thin straps and open back, the floor length dress showed off a lot of skin...a bit more than what she was used to if she was honest.

 

Still, it did make for an attractive silhouette, she decided. Her hair, forever with a mind of its own, had been pulled into an imperfect updo to show off the milky white expanse of her back. She wore the dark lipstick that she would typically wear for a reading and the overall effect made her look mysterious and exotic.

 

Tom was more than pleased with it when she finally emerged from behind the curtain. He looked at her as if she were good enough to eat up, his lips forever in a smirk. “Cygnus won’t know where to put his eyes,” he said smugly. “And even Abraxas will be able to forget that you are nothing more than a mudblood.”

 

It was like being doused with cold water, hearing that word again. But, she was not to know that he was insulting her, right to her face. Crossing her arms over her chest nervously, she broke eye contact in the hopes that he wouldn’t see the fire in her eyes. The blood purity bullshit would have to go.

 

No other words were spoken before Tom offered her his arm and apparated them to the home of Druella and Cygnus Black. When they arrived, it seemed that everyone else was already there. While she hadn’t met the majority of the men assembled, she recognized them easily enough. Cygnus Black was a shade of Sirius and there was no mistaking the white blond hair of Abraxas Malfoy. There was a rather tall, spindly looking man who could be no one but Alfred Nott. Dark auburn hair was a trait shared by Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, and their father Edmund. Mulciber was stocky and cruel looking, while Avery looked rather like rat.

 

Rosier lounged by the fireplace, looking her up and down not bothering to hide his lust while he bit on the end of a cigar. “You clean up well, seer,” he said with a grin. “Tom, did you bring us entertainment for tonight's meeting?”

 

“Not in my house,” Cygnus said with a sneer. “Druella is home.”

 

Hermione was dismayed to learn that not only did Tom not discourage the men from talking about her that way, but also that it seemed she would be the only witch present for the evening.

 

“Why did you bring her with anyway? She is nothing more than a muggle fraud,” Evan said, once he knew that he wasn’t going to get a rise from her. He sneered at her when she settled into the seat next to Tom, his arm wrapped around her waist. “Do you hear that, seer? I still have no heir as you claimed.”

 

“You don’t?” Hermione asked, cocking her head to the side, smirking at the arrogant man. “Judith Wilkes hasn’t contacted you yet? I think you will be finding yourself bound in marriage very shortly, Rosier.”

 

Her cool statement had the color draining from Rosier’s face and the rest of the assembled men laughing at his expense. Hermione knew that her words had hit the mark rather well.

 

Abraxas recovered first. “Oh, great seer, tell me, what does my future hold?” he asked, mocking her still, despite her accuracy with Rosier.

 

She gazed at the blond with cold eyes, not wanting to prance around like a trained animal for him, but knowing that she would need to prove herself more. “You will have no other children besides Lucius,” she told him dispassionately. “And you will die alone and without your family from dragon pox, drowning in your own fluids because you are too frightened to go to St. Mungo’s.”  _ That _ had not been in her secret book, but she had overheard it from Daphne Greengrass one day in the library.

 

Her gaze moved to Edmund Lestrange. “You, Lestrange, will have another son in several years,” she predicted with a frown. “He’ll be more capable and intelligent than Rodolphus, but you will neglect him for your first born, leading to the ruin of your house.” Lestrange didn’t respond, and she was already moving on to the next one. “Nott, you’ll not marry for another twenty years, and your wife will reluctantly give you a son before she dies.”

 

“And what of me?” Avery asked, sitting on the edge of his seat. The allure of knowing the future was too strong to pass up, even for purebloods such as these.

 

Hermione sneered at the group once again. “Did you lot come here to have your fortunes told by a seer?” she asked, letting her disdain bleed into her voice readily. “Or did you come here to help Tom achieve a better world?”

 

Tom’s fingers traced up and down her spine, stopping at every vertebrae. She leaned back, glancing to him cautiously. To her relief, he was smirking at the other assembled men. “As you can see, Hermione is no fraud,” he said, his voice low and deadly, immediately drawing the rest of them in. “She has opened my eyes to a...new avenue for us to...take control of our world, shape it the way it should be.”

 

“Tom, you can’t be serious,” Rosier said finally, looking at Hermione with interest. “Just a few weeks ago, you were convinced that she was nothing more than a muggle playing pretend, and now you bring her here?”

 

“Hermione is a muggleborn who slipped through the cracks,” Tom said with a hint of pride in her voice. “But make no mistake, she has magic. And she is the best seer that I’ve ever come across. You will be rewarded, Evan, for bringing me to her.”

 

His hand never left her skin, constantly touching her, as if their connection would be severed if he let go. Hermione could feel her heart pounding in her chest. These were dangerous men, and she hoped that she hadn’t made a terrible mistake, worming her way into Tom’s life like she had.

 

“I have an announcement,” Tom said finally, once the shock of her existence had worn off. “I will be leaving Borgin and Burke’s. The time has come for me to move onto new ventures. At the Ministry.”

 

* * *

 

Hermione had been impressed with the way that Tom had handled his little Slytherin followers. It was easy to see how they listened to him, needing someone like Tom to put their desires into action. Even more interesting was to see how quickly they were falling over themselves to help him achieve whatever he needed. He had them all under his thumb.

 

She had continued to “learn” under his tutelage, with Tom leaving books and exercises for her to work on while he was away during the day, and testing her at night. Otherwise, she was left to her own devices. She spent some time returning to her old life in the muggle world, seeing a few clients and trying to put some distance between herself and Tom.

 

While she was endlessly fascinated with what he was doing during the day, she didn’t ask or pry, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance between them. And, he never bothered to what she was doing when she wasn’t with him. 

 

So, she was surprised when she returned to Tom’s flat one evening after a long tea reading to find him waiting for her at the kitchen table. She stilled when she noticed a bottle of unopened champagne and two empty glasses waiting for them.

 

“Where were you?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her form.

 

“I was at my tea room,” Hermione said, hoping that nothing was wrong. “A reading went late. Are we celebrating?” she asked.

 

“Shouldn’t you be the one telling me?” he teased, a hint of cruelty in his voice. “Haven’t you already seen what’s going to pass?” He stood from his spot, working to loose the cork from the bottle, before pouring them each a glass. The champagne foamed immediately, overrunning the glass.

 

“It’s not as if I see  _ everything _ , Tom,” Hermione scolded him, before walking to the table, taking the glass nearer to her in hand. “Your future is in flux right now. Why don’t you just tell me.”

 

Even if he was suspicious, the prospect of boasting about his good news was too much for Tom to pass up. He puffed out his chest proudly. “You are looking at the new Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic,” he said with glee. “Pollux Black suggested me and I was offered the position today.”

 

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. That was really far better than she was expecting for Tom Riddle, former shop assistant at Borgin and Burke’s. He was immediately put in an unprecedented position of power, having the year of the Minister herself and playing an important role at the Wizengamot. “Congratulations, Tom,” she said with genuine pride. “I knew that you would do well.”

 

He took a large gulp of champagne but didn’t say anything. She could see the annoyance and anger creeping back into his eyes once again. He looked as if he was not as enthused about his new job as he should be.

 

“What is it?” she asked. “Aren’t you glad?”

 

“I don’t think I will enjoy being her little errand boy, always running around,” he said with a sneer. “And Dumbledore is already making noises about me in the Wizengamot.”

 

Hermione set down her glass and wrapped her arms around his neck, making him look at her. “Tom, the Minister will not be Minister for long. And then, you will be in a unique position to take control,” she whispered, giving him a knowing look. Hermione knew that the current Minister was only slated to be in her position for another few years. “And in the meantime, I am sure you can influence her thinking.”

 

Her words were certainly getting through to him. Tom began walking her backwards, until her back was pressed against the counter. “And Dumbledore?” he asked, lifting her up to sit on the counter, settling between her legs.

 

“Well, Dumbledore doesn’t have full control over the Wizengamot,” she whispered, drawing him down into a passionate kiss. “You will just have to find your own support.”

 

Tom kissed her eagerly at her promise, as though she were the air that he breathed. The press of his tongue against hers sent a zing of pleasure racing down her spine to her center. His hands traced up the outside of her legs, stopping when he reached the top edge of her knickers. 

 

Hermione moaned into him, lifting her hips to help him pull them down her legs, leaving her bare to his touch. His fingers found her center easily enough, groaning at the slickness that he found waiting for him. Using his thumb, he circled around her clit again and again until she was pulling her mouth away from him to beg him to enter her.

 

Shaking fingers freed him from his trousers and in a blink of an eye he was positioned against her. He entered her in one thrust, pressing his forehead to her neck, allowing them both to adjust to the sensation. When he was ready to move, he found her lips in a kiss again, joining them in another way. His fingers tangled into her hair, holding him just how he wanted her. His other hand held her lower back, letting her lean back. The change in angle had Hermione moaning in surprise.

 

_ Merlin _ , she knew that she should feel horrible about letting him have her this way, but she couldn’t feel even a little bit guilty when he made her feel so good. Her toes were curling as he entered her again and again, hitting just the right spot...

 

Pulling away from his lips, she cried out his name as she came, her body overtaken by pleasurable waves. His strokes became erratic, and he was following her not long after.

 

Hermione wasn’t sure how long she spent sitting perched on the counter, holding him to her, but it must not have been that long. Slowly, she came back into herself and remembered that her job was not nearly complete. Not yet.

 

She let her fingers play with the hair on the nape of his neck, her legs still wrapped around him. “Your friends...they don’t like people like me,” she said cautiously, regaining her breath. “People who were born to people without magic.”

 

Tom pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “They can’t take you away from me.”

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

It hadn’t taken longer than a year for Tom to come to despise Minister of Magic Wilhelmina Taft. She was ineffectual and had no vision. It had taken him longer than he wanted to admit to figure out how she’d ever been selected in the first place -- she had absolutely zero charisma, nothing to inspire one to believe in her words. Then he’d put two and two together on the lavish gifts and the legislation that she put forward. Taft was bought and paid for, nothing more than a convenient figure head.

 

While the Minister didn’t have any charisma, it was no secret that everyone found her Senior Undersecretary to be incredibly charming, and always so willing to help out. Taft slowly had him take over more and more of the in person duties, much to the ire of her son, a greedy man who had thought he was being groomed as the next Minister.

 

Tom Riddle did not need to resort to bribes to accomplish the things that he wanted. Wizards in the Wizengamot were falling over themselves to work with him, recognizing him as the future of the wizarding world -- a hard worker with a vision for a  _ better _ world.

 

At first, it was easy to get Wilhelmina to sway to his way of thinking. She had almost zero policy ideas of her own to put forward, so she was eager to stamp her name on something that actually had a hope of passing, but required no effort on her part. Tom made his friends very happy, passing all sorts of laws into legislation to help maintain their wealth and influence, ensuring that the old pureblood guard would be running things for a long time coming.

 

But then, outside forces -- namely Dumbledore and his ilk -- grew considerably unhappy. They began working to regain the ear of the ever fickle Wilhelmina.

 

She wouldn’t fire her Senior Undersecretary -- Merlin knows that she wouldn’t be able to function without him at that point -- but Tom began to get considerable pushback from the witch. It was enough for him to lament how much he would be able to accomplish if Taft was completely out of the picture, and he were Minister in her place.

 

After all, Minister Riddle had a nice ring to it.

 

He ranted about it at every turn to Hermione. She had become a permanent fixture at his side, always providing excellent council to him. When his pureblood  _ friends _ questioned him, Hermione was quick to remind him that they didn’t have the potential that he did, and he should trust his own instincts rather than cowing to their wants and needs. He was the only who could know what was  _ really _ important for the future. Already Avery had to be culled because he couldn’t get the message that  _ he _ was the one who would be leading them to glory.

 

She tried to placate him, slithering into his lap and pressing kisses up and down his neck, promising him that Wilhelmina’s time was coming -- she wouldn’t be Minister for much longer. Tom was frustrated that she wouldn’t give him more  _ specifics _ .

 

But, Hermione wasn’t immune to his charm either. He questioned her about the Minister’s downfall during their most intimate times, knowing that her mind was turned to mush and her lips were looser. After an evening spent with his mouth between her thighs, he’d questioned her further. Boneless with pleasure and unable to keep her eyes open from satisfaction, Hermione had told him that Wilhelmina’s  _ death _ was just around the corner.

 

It was blinding clear, then, to Tom what he needed to do. The reason that Hermione had never told him any specifics about when Wilhelmina would be leaving  _ must _ have been due to the fact that he hadn’t made his mind up about it. She would meet her end at  _ his _ hands, and no other.

 

As Minister Taft’s Senior Undersecretary, Tom learned all sorts of details about the woman, including her incredibly deadly allergy to alihosty. And of her extreme sweet tooth.

 

What a shame, then, that some alihosty-flavored fudge should find its way onto her desk one evening when she was working late and everyone else had already gone home for the evening.

 

Tom found her the next morning, slouched over her desk with a purple tinged skin from the lack of oxygen. A half-eaten piece of fudge was still in her hand. He’d acted shocked enough, calling for someone to call the Healers in from St. Mungo’s, looking ashen-faced and concerned when he ran back out of her office, getting the attention of everyone. She was pronounced dead not much longer.

 

Then, all he had to do was wait for the Wizengamot to select him as the next Minister of Magic. They wouldn’t dare consider anyone else for the job, not when there was no one as effectual as Tom Riddle working in the Ministry. There was no one as charming, as well liked, that they would select to be the face of the Ministry. No other witch or wizard would be able to accomplish half as much as he would.

 

He would face a challenge, he was sure, from Wilhelmina’s sniveling son Ignatius. Dumbledore might even sponsor him, but his clout as the Chief Warlock was waning rapidly. And Ignatius would never pass muster as Minister of Magic. 

 

Especially not when it came out that it was he who had sent his mother the fudge that killed her.

 

* * *

 

As he had predicted, Tom Riddle was chosen as the next Minister of Magic. He felt even more triumphant when the final vote was tallied and he realized that Dumbledore hadn’t been able to muster even a pathetic twenty percent of the Wizengamot to his side. It appeared that the tides were turning.

 

Hermione had looked...discontent with him once he revealed the happy news. He had expected her to be thrilled that he’d finally achieved what she had predicted he would all those years ago. But then, he realized that her fear must just be due to her uncertainty of her future.

 

He had never given her any reason to believe that he would abandon her in their three years together. If anything, he’d always delighted in watching her blossom and grow under his tutelage. Her magical talent, previously untapped, had been nurtured with him at her side, and he thought that she might even rival his own power. Really, she should be grateful to him...if he hadn’t stumbled upon her, she would have withered away in a shabby, little tea room, selling fortunes to muggles.

 

Still, he knew that she must be concerned about her continued presence at his side. After all, the Minister of Magic was a high profile position, much more so than the Senior Undersecretary. Everyone would know who he was and who he was with. Did she worry that he would push her aside if he encountered any resistance to their relationship? Didn’t she know how much he already fought for her against his followers? Didn’t she know that she was a part of him now?

 

He bought her a new dress for his inauguration party. Tom Riddle couldn’t have the woman on his arms looking anything less than perfect. Wrapped in green velvet and tall high heels, Hermione looked sensuous and wild, turning the heads of every man who’d come to congratulate him on his new position. She stood behind him dutifully while he gave his speech, supporting him. Tom knew that with his ambition and ruthlessness, and Hermione’s gift of sight, he would be unstoppable.

 

“I know that I did not have the support of everyone in the Wizengamot, but I want to promise that I will work hard to advance legislation that will help  _ all _ witches and wizards. My hope is that you will come to support the work that I want to accomplish,” he said with a silver tongue from his spot at the dias, looking out on everyone assembled. He wouldn’t bow to what the small minority wanted, but he fully expected that he get on board. “Further, I know that some of you think that I want to put restrictions on muggleborns, to rid them from our world.”

 

At this point, he turned back and gave Hermione small smile. He knew that she was consistently concerned that he would give into the desires of his followers, to make sure that purebloods reigned supreme at the expense of everyone else. It was a theory that Dumbledore had floated as well.

 

“I ask you to consider the source of that misinformation. Who should you believe? A half-blood orphan who was unaware of the magical world until he was eleven or a man whose own father was sent to Azkaban for killing muggles?” Tom said with an even, cruel voice. Murmurs rippled out from the crowd, and he was pleased to see that his tactic had worked. Dumbledore was not nearly as untouchable as he imagined.

 

Tom turned to Hermione fully then at that point, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her forward, not worried about the nervous look on her face. She was just unused to being in front of such a large audience. “I don’t want to get rid of muggleborns. On the contrary, I want to be sure that they are brought into our world, earlier. I want them to be aware of the magical world and to be helped with assimilation to our culture.”

 

His lips quirked into a smirk. “My own...partner...nearly slipped through the cracks,” he said giving Hermione an indulgent smile. She wasn’t his equal, but he would call attention to her knowing that it would only serve to humanize him further in the eyes of the assembled. “If I hadn’t found her, she would still be out in the muggle world, wandless and filled with magic she couldn’t control properly.”

 

There was no one who could accuse him of being prejudiced, not when he had Hermione at his side. She was even less than a muggleborn in many of their eyes, seeing as she only lived in the wizarding world for the past few years. “I hope that I will be able to convince you that this is the best thing for the magical world,” he said with a false smile. “At the very least, you have my promise that I will work  _ very _ hard to get you to see it  _ my  _ way.”

 

Applause punctuated the end of his speech. Tom strode off of the platform, with Hermione still wrapped around his side like a snake. Once they were out of view, he gave her a lingering kiss on the lips, not the passionate tangle he would have taken had they been alone. He grabbed them each a floating champagne glass and clinked his glass against hers in celebration.

 

“I think that the Minister of Magic needs more suitable accommodations than a small one bedroom flat, don’t you?” he asked. He had never moved out of his tiny flat the whole time he’d been with her, even though he had more than enough funds for it.

 

Hermione swallowed, looking at him oddly. “You told all of them that I was your partner,” she said blushing. “Surely you will find people that are opposed to me.”

 

Tom grinned at her, cupping her jaw fondly. “Don’t worry, Hermione. I’ve already told them that they won’t be able to take you away from me,” he said smoothly. He  _ needed _ her by his side, guiding him with her prophecies. “I’ll never let you leave my side.”

 

* * *

 

While he thoroughly enjoyed being the most powerful man in the wizard world -- Tom couldn’t deny how intoxicating it felt to hear his name mentioned as the most influential wizard of this century -- being Minister of Magic was also grating. It was not so simple as ordering people around. He had to put in time and effort, real hard work, something his followers didn’t seem to have a concept of.

 

Then when he came home in the evenings, all he wanted to do was to get into Hermione’s hot body, but she was insistent on talking about the  _ future _ . Recently, she had been nagging him to find a way to undo his horcruxes and mending his soul. It was one of the hazards of letting her have access to all of his notes and his books, he supposed. Once she had access to the full magical knowledge, she was able to more effectively argue with him.

 

He always listened to her, knowing that she had a unique gift, but there was no way that he was going to give in and get rid of his horcruxes, not when they ensured that he couldn’t be killed. Would she perform the ritual to restore him from a horcrux if he were killed, he wondered? Did she love him enough?

 

Tom was startled from his thoughts when three of his followers entered his office without preamble. Lestrange, Rosier and Cygnus Black all filled in before warding the door shut and putting up a silencing spell on the portraits. Raising an eyebrow, Tom wondered just what was so serious that they should all barge in like this.

 

“My lord,” Rosier said, with a grim look on his face. “We need to talk to you about something of grave importance.”

 

“I told you to  _ never _ call me that when we are in public,” he scolded the other man. But then, he supposed that old habits die hard.

 

“Minister Riddle,” Rosier ground out, not hiding the fact that he was not happy being told off like a small child. “It’s about some of your policy decisions...forcibly taking mudbloods from their parents? We don’t want more of their kind here in our world. We should be keeping them  _ out _ , not forcing them in.”

 

Cygnus was nodding in agreement. “When we agreed to help make you Minister of Magic, we thought that you shared the same kind of ideals that we did,” he said, his mouth in a firm line.

 

Tom clenched his hand into a fist at hearing Cygnus’s assertion that they had  _ made _ him Minister of Magic. No one had made him anything -- he’d had scraped his way up from the very bottom of the barrel, out of a muggle orphanage, and reached the top -- the most powerful wizard in the world.

 

“It seems that you no longer have faith in the pureblood tradition.”

 

Tom didn’t speak for a while, steepling his fingers together while he thought over their words. “Lestrange, do you feel the same?” he asked, wondering just how deep this betrayal went.

 

“It seems as if you’ve turned your back on us,” Lestrange scowled. “In school, you promised to continue Salazar Slytherin’s noble work. To help remove mudbloods from our world. Now, you are welcoming them in with open arms, into the magical world, even into your bed.”

 

Hermione had warned him about this, Tom remembered. She worried to him that his friends wanted to keep people like her out of their world. “Make no mistake, I have not lost sight of my beliefs,” he sneered at the men. “Muggleborns do have their place in our society, but their place is  _ beneath _ purebloods. I can’t allow their...talents to be under-utilized, though.”

 

“You don’t even call them what they are anymore -- mudblood filth,” Rosier spat, clearly not moved by his promise.

 

“I’m the Minister of Magic, Rosier,” Tom said angrily, standing up. “Dumbledore promised that I wanted to wipe out the muggleborns as a way to get people to oppose me. Of course, I can’t be heard calling them anything but muggleborns.”

 

A sinister smile came across Rosier’s face. “No -- it’s that fucking seer,” he said, pointing his finger at Tom. “She’s gotten into your head, constantly whispering into your ear, telling you what you want to hear so that you’ll do anything that she says. She’s changed you.”

 

“Hermione hasn’t changed me,” he insisted. “She has guided me faithfully for years, and never once lead me astray. She has helped me, the same as all of you.”

 

“She is poison,” Lestrange insisted, nostrils flaring. “I cannot deny her gift, but she cannot be trusted, not if she is able to influence you so.”

 

A horrible feeling began to twist in Tom’s stomach, wanting to deny their words. He couldn’t stand to hear them say such terrible things about Hermione. He couldn’t deny the part that she had played in his rise to power. The thought of removing Hermione from his life, from making a decision without her insight felt painful and  _ wrong _ .

 

“Don’t you think it’s odd that she just showed up?” Rosier asked, his voice edging on the hysterical. “Don’t you think it’s just a bit  _ too _ convenient that she has all the answers that you need, at precisely the right moment? You were going to go to Albania, to study the dark arts, but the moment she shows up, you completely changed course.”

 

“Enough! Do I need to remind the three of you what happened to Avery?” he snarled,  remembering the way that the other man’s face had been etched in permanent surprise when the Killing Curse struck him. “Please do not think that you can’t be replaced.”

 

“My lord,” Cygnus choked out, obviously concerned by his harsh reaction. “We aren’t...we are only -- we are trying to look out for your best interests.”

 

“Then you will leave Hermione out of your concerns,” Tom ordered. “And if you continue to assist me, you might be rewarded. Just look at Abraxas.” While Tom wasn’t afraid to trim the fat, as it were, he knew that he needed to reward his most ardent supporters as well. Abraxas Malfoy had been selected as Chief Warlock after Dumbledore resigned in shame.

 

The three men looked between each other, perhaps debating with their eyes if it was worth it to continue this argument between them. But Tom was in a volatile mood, so it was best not to press their luck. “Of course, Minister Riddle,” they chorused eventually, through gritted teeth.

 

“I won’t entertain talk of this again,” Tom added sternly. The thought of anyone taking Hermione away from him, from insisting that he just give her away made him nervous, unsteady. Worse even was the worry that his followers were  _ right _ . Was he completely crippled without Hermione at his side to guide him to the correct path? “Now, go.”

 

They filed out, but long after they left, Tom was unable to get their words out of his mind. Was it convenient the way that Hermione had shown up? She had immediately lured him in with her knowledge of Slytherin’s locket and he hadn’t looked back since then. What if Hermione was nothing more than an insidious trick wrapped in pretty packaging?

 

There was something...off about her, but he had never been able to put his finger on it.

 

Calling for his secretary, he ordered the Hogwarts attendance rolls be brought to him for the 1940s. The scrolls were produced quickly, and he leafed through the old parchment with shaking fingers. Year after year, he became more and more concerned. Even if she had not attended the school, her name should appear on the list as an eligible student. But still, year after year, there was no Hermione Granger to be found.

 

The twisting in his stomach grew tighter while he questioned the possibilities.

 

It shouldn’t be possible -- he had seen the memory of her meeting with some witch or wizard who had told her about her magic, inviting her to Hogwarts. Furrowing his brow, he tried to picture who it had been that had come to see her. Certainly not Dumbledore acting as Deputy Headmaster. It hadn’t seemed important at the time, but...wasn’t it now?

 

One possibility began to stick out, no matter how much he’d wanted to deny it. Hermione could have been lying to him.

 

He didn’t bother to let his secretary know that he was leaving for the day, needing to get back to their shared home, to question her. Stepping through the Floo, he called out for Hermione, only to be met with silence. Stalking out of the ash, he made a search through every room for the witch, determined to find her. His efforts remained unfulfilled -- Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

 

Sneering, he realized that she must be at her tea room, her tie to the muggle world still maintained even though he had given her every reason to sever it. He couldn’t figure out what was so important to her about it, but he didn’t dare demand that she leave it behind either.

 

Tom was so furious that the noise his apparition created rattled the panes of glass in their windows at Hermione’s little tea room. He looked around, nostrils flaring when he discovered that she was not  _ here _ either. The room showed signs of deterioration and a thin layer of dust had settled on the bookshelves and window sills, owing to her reduced time here.

 

Where could she be hiding, he wondered?

 

Pacing around the empty living room, Tom could feel his fingers itching for his wand, wanting nothing more than to blast everything in this room to the ground. He wouldn’t be able to stand still until Hermione returned and he could question her. Her memories had seemed so realistic. In order to get one over on him, she would have to be a very powerful witch. But then again, there was no denying that Hermione had become a very powerful witch.

 

Stalking to the bookshelves that she had, Tom began pulling random books out and throwing them on the floor, hating how muggle they were. He wanted to destroy them, knowing that it would hurt Hermione to see her  _ precious books _ trampled on. He pulled out a heavy, dark green tome. He was about to toss it over his shoulder, too, when he saw the picture on the cover move.

 

_ That was odd _ , he thought to himself, realizing that it must be a magical book.  _ Why is Hermione hiding a magical book here? _ He couldn’t allow himself to wonder anymore and he eagerly opened the cover, reading the title. At first it didn’t make sense, but then everything clicked into place. Bile rose in his throat as he flipped page after page, reading about various births and marriages and deaths that hadn’t happened yet.

 

_ A time traveler. _

 

“Tom?” Hermione’s voice called from the open doorway, shutting the door behind her. “What are you doing here?” she questioned, surprise in her voice.

 

“Care to explain what this is?” he snarled at her, crossing the distance between them and shoving the book none too gently into her hands.

 

She looked concerned for a millisecond, her face going pale and drawn when she realized that her secret had been exposed. But then, she looked up at him with a horrible grin that had Tom’s heart leaping into his throat. “It’s a book. What does it look like?” she questioned smartly.

 

“It was printed in 1975,” Tom answered fiercely, pressing her back against the wall. He enjoyed the jolt of fear in her eyes when he handled her roughly. “And, you...you’ve never shown up on the rolls for Hogwarts.”

 

“I haven’t shown up  _ yet, _ ” Hermione clarified with a sneer. “That won’t happen until 1991.”

 

“Don’t sound so smug,” he said, menacingly, shoving her further into the wall, their bodies completely flush. “I’ve found you out, and now I will  _ take care _ of you.”

 

Hermione gasped at the feeling of his hard body against hers, but she quickly smiled at him, patronizingly. “Why shouldn’t I be smug? I’ve managed to fool the most powerful wizard alive for four years,” she said with a cruel laugh. “I’ve carefully exploited your weaknesses and guided you to a path that _I_ _chose_ for you. I always knew that you put far too much stock in prophecies and fortune tellers and you fell _right_ into my trap. It’s pitiful, really.”

 

It was the first time that Tom was certain of the maliciousness in Hermione, of the darkness. She constantly feigned that she was uncomfortable with dark magic, uncomfortable with using other people to her own gain, but seeing how she was  _ enjoying _ hurting him made him see the truth he’d known all along. Hermione was a vicious little creature, and it sent a thrill up his spine.

 

Tom didn’t bother to hide the hardness between his legs, the evidence that she was affecting him this way. Their bodies knew each other too well after so many years together. Pulling at her hair, Tom pulled her down into a kiss, biting and sucking her lower lip between his. Hermione returned the kiss just has eagerly, her dull nails digging into his biceps.

 

Pulling away, he breathed in heavily, never breaking eye contact. “How did you do it?” he questioned, needing to know the answer.

 

Hermione shrugged. “You didn’t expect much out of me,” she said simply. “Not at first. So when you looked into my memories you didn’t delve too deeply. After all, I was just a stupid little mudblood who slipped through the cracks.”

 

“Witch,” he muttered, palming her breast and feeling her hard little point of her nipple straining through the fabric, pinching it. His other hand began pulling up at the hem of her robes, eager to get at her hot center. “Are you even a mudblood?”

 

She smiled at him sinisterly. “Proudly muggleborn, Tom,” she said, rubbing it in. “And how does it feel to know that I bested you?”

 

He didn’t answer her question, currently too unwilling to put to words just what he was feeling. Instead, he focused on freeing himself from his trousers, before lining up with her hot cunt. Lifting her by her arse, Tom slid home in one stroke. Ever the active participant, Hermione eagerly wrapped her legs around his waist, her body embracing him as he began to rock back and forth into her.

 

She was too open though, too focused on gloating, on rubbing it in his face that she’d managed to trick him. She left her mind utterly unguarded and it was easy for him to slip into her mind once again.

 

The visions that he saw made him dizzy and confused, everything about him was so out of order. Lord Voldemort, a name he had chosen for himself in school but nearly abandoned now, buzzed around full of fear. He saw a monster with a powder white face and red eyes. It had no lips and only slits for nostrils, but it couldn’t be...yes, that was the person  _ he _ had become after he made seven horcruxes and been brought back to life, not once, but twice. He had... _ won _ he realized, looking at the memories in her mind, the crushing agony of defeat in her mind, and every witch and wizard had feared  _ his name _ , just as he’d always desired.

 

Hermione had changed him, eager to erase the future that she had come from. She had hated him, wanted him dead, and yet, she had come back to the past to guide him to a more preferable future. She had even given her body to him, become his lover and confidant. He admired her willingness to do whatever it took to achieve her aims.

 

Tom pulled back from her mind and could feel her walls fluttering around him and he knew that she was close. Snaking a hand between them, he pressed his thumb to her clitoris, circling it again and again. He smirked at her, still giving into him now even when he knew what he was to her -- a mortal enemy. “How does it feel to be fucked by your greatest enemy?” he countered.

 

Her head leaned back, overwhelmed by the sensation, panting heavily. He dropped his lips to the pale column of her neck, sucking at the delicate skin, knowing he wouldn’t rest until he saw it covered in red bruises. He wanted her to  _ hurt _ , and he wanted her to come, and he wanted her to  _ need _ him the way that he needed her.

 

“I made you a better person,” she said, desperately, as if she was trying to convince herself that it was true. Her fingers ran through his black hair, holding him to her. “I’ve made you the most powerful wizard alive, and if it wasn’t for me you’d be nothing more than a monster, too obsessed with death to see the big picture. So consumed by the dark arts that every good thing about you faded and--”

 

She squealed when he hit that particular spot inside of her, keening as she came around him. Tom gave a few more erratic thrusts before he was following behind her, gasping into her skin. His heart was pounding in his ribcage from exertion or excitement, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t let her down, holding her body as tightly against his as he could manage.

 

“So, are you going to kill me?” she asked, her voice small and exhausted.

 

Tom laughed at the question, before sneering at her. “Even if you aren’t a genuine seer, you are far too valuable for me to kill. You still have information to give me about the future, information to help me avoid the same mistakes I made last time,” he said, taking delight in her -- his enemy -- helping him achieve the greatness he so desired. He pressed his lips to her ear, to whisper. “I told you, Hermione...I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”


End file.
